The towhead girl
Now slow and greying
Feel the turning of the wheel
Hear wolves baying.
I left my dark haired child
In the forest to run wild
Under the leaves I moulder
As my body gets colder.
She will find her way
Her dark eyes alight
I will stay and guide her
In the frost of the night
As her fire kindles
I turn to bone
While my fire dwindles
This grey eyed crone.
4 comments:
Like your poem-
it's right up my alley.
For I too am "turning to bone."
Cheer up- we all share the
same fate, even angelena Jolee
and her boy toy Brad,
if that's any consolation.
The girl in the picture
and inside you
will always remain young.
you're no crone! I like the poem though...
I'd be honored to be conidered a time weathered, wise, story telling, and enigmatic old crone.
Kneener, there are countless women who would give their right arm to "grow old" like you have and still look so pretty!
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