And pulling up the blushing herb
By roots burrowed so deeply,
She pulled and tore the nightshade up
Til it was gone completely.
And as the old witch watched the girl
She robbed the nightshade of its seeds,
And swallowing them she cried aloud,
"You killed my love, now me!"
It is said that though the garden
Round that hill now lies fallow,
Lovers regard it as a place
Both haunted and most hallowed,
And on cool fall nights with mist rolls in,
There floats Atropa's pale persona, whispering,
"Beware, young loves,
Take care, young loves,
Beware the belladonna!"
Heather Dawn Morrison
