I wrote a story about a young girl burnt at the stake as a witch in Suffolk, England many years ago, when I came to Spain I turned it into a poem and my good friend Ginger painted this scene for me, interpreting the story in the poem perfectly.
THANKS GINGER!
I had that dream again last night
My feet are bare and I am dressed in white
I walk the shoreline in the cold of the seas
The air is ice cold and there is a strong breeze
I walk over stones and along a muddy track
But I leave no footmarks when I look back
I seek the spire that is so tall
And look for the gate in the long stone wall
At last I see the old oak tree
By the ancient church that stands on the Lee
My search is over and safety at last
In a place so dear to my time in the past
I wake from my slumber with tears in my eyes
For beneath that oak my poor body lies
Memories of horror fill my mind with hate
As I remember being burnt at a wooden stake
But now I am free and have a long lasting peace
In dreams so sweet where all nightmares cease