The Secret Stead is the pen name of a UK-based writer and
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Ye dost knoweth lies and gossip spread like wildfire,
when a village has a weird woman in their pyre,
the subject of every house she was 'cept none,
to cause a nuisance, they would send their children
to scream and shout and make fun in persecution.
What had poor Alice done for this execution?
But heal the sick with herbs when they had been unwell,
and bring to pain and suffering, benediction.
Villagers had called her wisdom the dark art of spell,
and when speaks one, one will follow, ye knowest well.
Aware though they were, filled up now with evil notion,
they cut her hair, and dipped her in the village well.
Thou art the Devil's seed, old Alice Samuel.
Hark this grimoire of thine! For it is a death knell.
( ii )
For as thee walk past ravens bow and jackdaws crow!
The moon will wink to thee, and the sun goest low!
Thy familiar black cat and old felt cone hat
and thy crooked gait and face is all we need show.
For in dark forest thee live alone with thy cat.
We didst hear thee when on the Devil's lap thou sat!
Writhing and groaning in thee naked devotionals,
for in day thee be old, come night thou art his slut!
Thou maketh our children cry. Oh, thou canst tell.
Yea, when thee treat, the Devil treats, thou knowest well!
We beware thy medicines, they are His potions.
Yea, remember what happened to Lady Cromwell!
Thou art the Devil's seed, old Alice Samuel.
Hark this grimoire of thine! For it is a death knell.
( iii )
Our lady came to thee to see things thou do,
and didst see the Devil in thy black heart, so true.
She snipped a bit of thy hair, did the lady fair,
and in the same night our lady's nightmares grew,
'Tis not long after, the lady met Our Lord,
for thee had sung with the Devil an evil chord.
Yea, it was a death sentence for Lady Cromwell,
to punish the hair she took to stop thy evil!
Thou maketh our children cry. Oh, thou canst tell.
Yea, when thee treat, the Devil speaks. We knowest well!
We beware thy medicines, they are His reward.
We remember what happened to Lady Cromwell!
Thou art the Devil's seed, old Alice Samuel.
Hark this grimoire of thine! For it is a death knell.
———
———
( i )
Thus it came time for Alice to feel the rope,
and though poor weird woman knew there was no hope,
she quietly spoke bravely in her defence there,
to answer the lies and gossip of which they spoke:
The Lady Cromwell fair did indeed take my hair,
Yea her falsehoods, not I, was root of her nightmares.
Ye knowest my heart towards her was filled with light,
Yea here she would be, had she let me heal her.
Ye send thy children to my door late in the night
to frighten me, as they spit and cough in delight.
My humble garden grows the herbs to make ye well.
Whom amongst ye have I not helped in times of blight?
An old woman I am, named Alice Samuel.
That grimoire is thine and not mine. Ye knowest well.
( ii )
My wisdom is the wisdom of Mother Nature.
No harm does Her will, or cause any to suffer.
For each poison can She provide absolution,
that indeed be the magic and art within her.
In secret ye come to me for benediction,
though ye feel shame to ask for my concoctions.
Ask, ye do; and I give it, though ye do me slight,
And is this my award now, with execution?
Ye send thy children to my door late in the night
to frighten me, as they spit and shout in delight.
My herbs in my small garden are to make all well.
Pray, whom amongst ye have I left in times of ill?
An old woman I am, named Alice Samuel.
That grimoire is thine and not mine. Ye knowest well.
( iii )
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No command have I over the Moon or the Sun.
Nor dance do I in devilry for thy daemon.
Nor does any living thing ever bow to me,
Yea, in the forest I live, for I have no one.
Is this my penalty to speak my mind thus free?
My songs are of Mother Earth, my hymns are for me.
Yea, the only black thing in my bed of a night,
my cat is my most gentle and sweet company!
Is this why ye send thy children to me to fright?
Pray tell, is this why I shall hang this very night?
Then hang me high if it will make all here well,
Yea, is me thou'lt remember, not Lady Cromwell!
An old woman I am, named Alice Samuel.
That Devil is thine and not mine. Ye knowest well.
Published 12 April, 2026
