In this little
room
Against a corner
Rests the old hag’s broom
In this
little room
Are long
forgotten memories
While she works
incessantly
Bundling herbs
fastidiously
Mug Wort,
Briar Patch
Witches
Broom, Thistle Thatch
Such sweet perfume!
She
methodically moves the pestle
In her hair a
raven nestles
Her long hair black
With streaks of white
Her eyes as black
Black as the
night
She smells
of Eucalyptus
Her style is
so meticulous
She glances up to catch the time
Then back to
work
Why, it’s half
past nine!
A hummingbird hovers to say, "hello"
She glances
up and with a bow
Both eyes
meet and with silent words
Continuing to stir her fragrant herbs
“How is your
day going”, she asks?
“As well as can
be", the response that comes back
“I hope to
see you tomorrow, then”
“We’ll meet
at nine or half past ten”.
"And don't forget your friend,
the Wren".
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