Familiar

Save for you, my dearest  
'tis true I lived alone  
only courting vain distraction  
as you followed through the woods  
while I gathered what I may  
to raise our simple soup  
 
And yet I recognised no truth  
when my accuser claimed  
of late I'd grown  
the mew and claw of witch  
a slur to rival even your sage darkness  
and taint my heart with shadow  
so even your fine whiskers preened  
to keenly know the truth  
 
Poor curdled cream  
a conjured poison from jealous tongue  
to fuel the bile of idlest talk  
What raggle-tag of crone  
would spit to singe your fur  
and croak us both to Lucifer  
then feed the pyre our bones?  
 
But even fools must dance their jig  
its moment stumbles  
to feast on crumbs  
where stake and blindfold  
amuse the flame  
cavorting with bald nonsense  
false sin to seal their shame  
 
And so my dearest  
the fates ahead cry clear  
no cowardly repentance  
to compromise truth's will  
forsaking lap and hearth  
our ghosts defy each year  
for in death through woods eternal  
we'll hunt together still