They looked for the seventh son of the seventh son
Found him there and took him in
Witch-blood, uncanny, magic lives here
So many but still a prize.
But did you ever stop to think
Of the eighth daughter
Accidental and shunned and ignored?
Did you ever stop to watch
As she drew the shadows in
And her hatred started a storm?
Did you ever wonder how
Her parents must have sneered
Their duty had been done but
still she had appeared here?
Did they even bother watching
As their doting love of Seven
Stirred the disgust and the power
Of the eighth that had no need?
Maybe you should stop searching
For the one that tales tell
Look instead to the eighth,
Make sure she's okay.
Maybe then you'll get your prize
Of love and loyalty
Maybe then you'll get your prize
Of magic and of praise
Maybe then you'll get your prize
Of witch-blood burning eyes.
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