I had just visited the top of my house

To retrieve some important papers

When I noticed a spinning orb

High above the main staircase

It seemed to be half filled with violet water

With a confusion of coloured rays trapped within


Petronilla of Meath

She was burnt at the stake

For heresy and witchcraft

In the English colony of Ireland

Her life portrait hangs on my wall

I often refer to her as

 La Femme Parfaite