Baby-witch, br my daughter, br my worship of the Goddess br alone br condemns you to the fire. . . br br I blow upon br your least fingernail br & it flares cyclamen & rose. br I suck flames from your ears. br I touch your perfect nostrils br & they, too, flame gently br like that pale rose br called 'sweetheart'. br br Your eyelids are tender purple br like the base of the flame br before it blues. br br O child of fire, br O tiny devotee of the Goddess- br br I wished for you br to be born a daughter br though we know br that daughters br cannot but be br br born for burning br like the fatal br tree.