Eight

They looked for the seventh son of the seventh son

Found him there and took him in

Witch-blood, uncanny, magic lives here

So many but still a prize.

 

But did you ever stop to think

Of the eighth daughter

Accidental and shunned and ignored?

Did you ever stop to watch

As she drew the shadows in

And her hatred started a storm?

 

Did you ever wonder how

Her parents must have sneered

Their duty had been done but still she had appeared right here?

Did they even bother watching

As their doting love of Seven

Stirred the disgust and the power

Of the eighth that had no need?

 

Maybe you should stop searching

For one that tales tell

Look instead to the eighth,

Make sure she's okay.

 

Maybe then you'll get your prize

Of love and loyalty

Maybe then you'll get your prize

Of magic and of praise

Maybe then you'll get your prize

Of witch-blood burning eyes.

 

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