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    
the moment stumbling      
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 shall hunt together  
still