The Witch Who Guards: A Rhyming Bedtime Poem
When dishes are done and the lights burn low,
And stars peek out with a silvery glow,
The witch stands up with a gentle sigh,
It’s time to guard as night drifts by.
She walks to the door and rests her hand,
This home is safe, this house will stand.
“Only kind hearts may enter here,”
She whispers soft so the door can hear.
She checks the windows, one by one,
Where moonbeams rest and shadows run.
She draws a circle, slow and small,
“Keep watch tonight,” she says to all.
In the kitchen warm, where spices stay,
And wooden spoons have much to say,
She thanks them all for the help they give,
For feeding the love by which they live.
Down the hall where the dreamers lie,
She walks as quiet as a lullaby.
At every door, her wish is spun,
Sweet dreams tonight, till morning comes.
She tends the hearth, the fire so kind,
Not gone, just resting, calm and mild.
“Stay close,” she hums, “while we all sleep,”
And the embers promise watch to keep.
She curls in bed, the work now done,
The guarding set till rise of sun.
The house stands strong, the night stays far,
Protected well by the witch who guards.
So close your eyes, let worries fade,
You’re safe within the spells she’s made.
The witch is near, the home is sound,
Sleep wrapped in love the whole night round.
A Final Whisper to be spoken softly
The door is tight,
The windows bright,
The house is warm and all is right.
The Witch Who Was Crossed: A Warning in Verse
There once was a witch, calm and kind,
Who kept a warm hearth and a thoughtful mind.
Her door was open, her table set fair,
She welcomed all who came with care.
She healed with herbs and gentle words,
Fed stray souls like she fed the birds.
Her home was bright, her garden crossed,
With paths well kept and nothing lost.
But some forgot what kindness means,
They laughed at wards they couldn’t see.
They took her trust, they crossed her line,
And mocked the old ways, sign by sign.
The witch said nothing, not a sound,
She simply turned her broom around.
She swept her step from left to right,
And closed her door that very night.
No thunder rolled, no candle flared,
No shouted curse hung in the air.
She only said, calm and clear,
“You are not welcome lingering here.”
The road grew strange for those who crossed,
Small things broke, then were misplaced.
Doors stuck fast and paths bent wrong,
Days felt heavy, nights too long.
Nothing cruel and nothing wild,
Just luck that turned and plans that spoiled.
Until they learned, as all must do,
Respect is owed where power grew.
For witches who guard do not seek war,
They only balance what came before.
And kindness given stays a gift,
But lines once crossed… will always shift.
So walk with care where hearths burn bright,
Speak with respect both day and night.
For warmth is shared with open hand,
But not with those who will not stand.
The Witch Who Is Remembered
There lived a witch, long years ago,
When paths were dirt and lights burned low.
She did not shout, she did not boast,
She moved like wind, like quiet coast.
She healed with hands, she listened well,
Knew when to speak and when not tell.
She left no mark, no grand display,
Just steadied hearts along the way.
When she was gone, no bell was rung,
No song was sung, no story sung.
The world moved on, as worlds all do,
And time kept folding old into new.
But something stayed within that place,
A warmth, a calm, a held-in grace.
The bread still rose, the fires burned bright,
Homes felt watched through longest night.
When storms rolled in, the roofs held fast,
When grief arrived, it did not last.
And mothers hummed a tune they knew,
Though none recalled from whom it grew.
Children slept with fear kept far,
Dreams guided gently by a star.
And when asked why the house felt so,
They’d say, “It’s always been this way, you know.”
For witches do not fade with death,
They linger in each careful breath.
In habits kept and kindness shared,
In love returned, in homes repaired.
So if you feel a steady calm,
A knowing hand, a quiet psalm,
Do not look back or search the past –
She is remembered.
And that will last.
The Witch Who Forgave
There lived a witch with knowing eyes,
Who saw through truth and all disguise.
She knew that harm is rarely clean,
But tangled up in what’s unseen.
Her heart was warm, her borders clear,
She welcomed love but honored fear.
For kindness given must be kept,
And lines once crossed are not forget.
Some came to her with sharpened words,
With careless hands and broken vows.
They took her trust, they spoke untrue,
And left their hurt like thorns would do.
The witch grew still. She did not chase.
She did not curse. She held her place.
She sat with pain, she named it right,
She tended wounds away from sight.
When time had softened edge and flame,
She spoke their names without the blame.
Not to excuse, nor to pretend,
But free herself from bitter ends.
“I loose this weight,” the witch then said,
“Not for you, but for my thread.
I forgive to set me free,
And leave what was where it should be.”
She closed the gate. She swept the ground.
She did not let them back around.
Forgiveness was not open doors,
But peace reclaimed from inner wars.
And in her chest, the ache grew light,
Her breath returned, her sleep each night.
For mercy given without cost
Is power found, not power lost.
So hear this well, both old and new:
Forgive when it is right for you.
Not to forget. Not to excuse.
But to choose peace – and still choose you.