The lure of a witch's presence

Skin brighter than white;
Hair darker than night,
Teeth yellow as rotten flesh;
The Mysterious Lady comes.

She neither leaves a trace nor a shadow that one can see,
But when she comes by she always looks at me,
Her eyes; like flowers with frostbite
they be
So haunted, not sparkling, no trace left of glee.

A lady she was, with no name
But my cold heart asks, am i to blame?
I tried not to fall back from fear and asked;
What dream came to you that you came?

I know so many last words
But I will never know hers,
There's a cold smile on her lips;
And my body shivers.

She appears, sometimes, on rainy days to save the lands going ill;
Born of the night; the evil darkness,
Then she fades into the shadowed hills
Where the memory alone prevails.