Yazoo Witch

A grave in the old graveyard, it was said belonged to a witch. A sinister chain was the safeguard, from the curse if it ever unhitched. The chain was sturdy and strong, to hold any witch at bay, with links at least one foot long, and an edict we all must obey. 'If you dare to break my chain, despair will come to the town, when death fills the night with pain and destruction will rain down.' The witch's curse met a test back in 1878 when the quiet of the witch's rest was disturbed by a ponderous weight. The man who fell the timber was soon to become a believer, for that was a year to remember, the year of the yellow fever. Half of the town's people died, the chain was quickly made whole, the legend would soon be a guide, the story we children were told. It was a rite of passage to spend a night at the grave, a feat that few boys could manage to prove that they were brave. But one impish boy they claim, stayed the night in that place and cut clean through the chain so the witch's grave was defaced. They knew it had happened before, another year of the witch's ire, that was nineteen hundred and four when the town was destroyed by fire. Now boys never seem to learn, and in 1927, the lessons behind were spurned, more souls ascended to heaven. Again the chain was broken, the witch's words were true, as in my youth they were spoken for the curse again was made new. That was the year of the flood that covered the southern land; the witch took her payment in blood, so pay heed to her command. Throughout my youth the chain has held and holds tight now; so we all can learn from our pain if the Yazoo witch will allow.