The Witch of the Pines

Pasadena was an old town nestled in pinewood;
my mother lived there when she was quite small.
She heard the village stories and learned the most she could,
and told us kids the best she could recall.

She'd tell us, "Those old Pasadeners always liked to meet
to repeat stories they had told for years.
If we promised to be quiet, we could sit around their feet,
'cause like you younguns, we was 'mostly ears'."

But it seemed no matter what the congregating neighbors told,
there was one yarn that stood out above the rest.
It was the tale of Bill and Peggy, well-remembered by the old,
that was the tale us younguns liked the best.
For as soon as one would chuckle and say, "Remember Bill;
what a so and so that turkey buzzard was?
Amongst his other tributes he could drink his weight in swill;
he could guzzle half the night - that mean ol' cuss!"

The whole town tried to tell Bill, "You better mend yer ways,
less'n ye'll end up that place it's always hot.
For, sometimes - same's the rest of us - ye'll have to end yer days."
He'd take a swig and answer, "Like as not."
One morning when Bill'd grown old, his race on earth nigh thru',
he said to Peggy, "See that there ol' well? 
Well, if I pass into that place where them people 'spect me to,
I'll cause that water well to churn and swell."
It wasn't too long after that, that Bill made his demise,
and as he promised, he sent back his sign.
For the waters in the old well began to boil and rise;
folks came to watch from up and down the line.
Other strange things happened after Bill was laid to rest;
life in Pasadena turned so weird.
The folks began suspicioning that Peggy was possessed,
that she had turned into a witch, they feared.
Some folks took to puttin' table salt above their door -
they'd heard that it would keep a witch away.
Others thought an herb-filled glass ball would protect them more.
Her presence made them tremble, folks would say.
Behind her back, the people called her "Old witch of the pines."
Rude boys stuck out their tongues at her on dares,
but chickened in their deviltry when she made threatnin' signs,
and ran off fast when she threw them her stares.

By then some folks would doze off, as old folks often do.
Then, one old-timer got complete recall.
He started telling stories that he stressed as being true,
for certain he wouldn't tell a tale that's tall!
He told 'bout what the preacher'd seen, "You know he'd tell no lies.
He was clearin' wood land for a meetin' place.
He went to chase a lizard and it changed before his eyes -
into Peggy - and she slapped him in the face.
And no disputin' my word, either; lyin' ain't my habit;
with my own eyes I saw her disappear.
I met her on a footpath and she turned into a rabbit.
My ol' dog chased her far as he could see'r!"

Then, one more sympathetic, we call Uncle Jebby, spoke
to his buddy; he said, "You remember, Chad,
that day down by the pottr'y plant we saw Peg pickin' poke;
do you remember how she looked so sad?"
"Now, it seems when Bill was livin'," a boozin' buddy said,
"Peggy'd shown to him a stocking filled with gold.
Could be some crook remembered it after Bill was dead."
Hereby, a mournful story can be told.
For it wasn't one year later on a cold and wint'ry night,
that Peggy's cabin burned down to the ground.
In smoky ruins, Peg's remains were found by morning light,
but not a trace of any gold was found.

The legend doesn't end there, and the town folk got concerned.
They knew it was revenge sent back by Bill
when the earth got hot and trembled, people in their houses burned.
Pasadena, after that, just went downhill.

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