She enjoyed watching the group in the scrying pool. This group was far more interesting than any of the other ones. Though this one had the potential to give her an heir, she knew that she could do this with the next group as well. Could they actually figure out how to get the wish undone? None have in the last two centuries, not since the small German writer. She thought back on him almost fondly for a second.
The witch had not set any major restrictions on the pregnant one. She was not really worried about the group being together. It was amusing to see how scared they were. Immortality was a lonely existence and groups like this gave her something to think about. Maybe if they were successful she would seek a true option for a child to raise. She did not normally seek the interaction with people, as it lessened the ache when they died. There was ways to grant the immortality but she always felt like it was a curse. Retaining just enough humanity to make it unbearable to put another person through the curse she was under meant that she interacted when someone bothered her.
She cursed mildly under her breath about the german who wrote the fairy tale almost two centuries prior. It meant that there was an answer available to be found for those curious. Not that she minded truthfully but it kind of made her feel better to curse at things she couldn’t change. She still felt a fondness for his memory and reached out to carress the hand bound original copies he had given her of each of the volumes he wrote. The problem was that the story was now in the hands of her playthings. She sighed at her own silliness.
She debated if she should try to prevent them from finding her name. Technically according to the rules that bound her magic she could not stop the attempt to undo the wishes….but she could make it harder for them to find the answers. She just debated whether she was wanting to interfere at all. Dwelling on that might make it no longer fun to watch. She looked at the fish tank and wondered if her toy there had been forgotten. A game of wits was only fun if the opponent had some ammo to work with .
watch here for more details about the book as I get closer to its release…
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land whereeveryman is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America!
O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!
Today this feels like the statement that needs to be made. we are looking at An America taking steps backward instead of growing. I am descent from the men and women who walked this land before the USA existed….and I am ashamed of what it has become.
Pattimouse 