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Crone

19 Jun
She is a crone, 
a flowing vapor,
an invisible river--
Too fast? Too slow?
What she is? I don't know.

...but I'm caught in her tow
and must go with the change
perpetually to grow in age
sands through a glass
either gold dust or waste

A tree of possibility
her leaves transform seasonally
to fertilize the hope of summer dreams

A personal providence?
Or a bad joke of chance?
Directed? or drifting?
Does she emanate from living?
Or life from her?

She calls me to decide
if I will ride or hide
...One thing is for sure,
Her...



 
3 Comments

Posted by on June 19, 2021 in Poetry

 

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3 responses to “Crone

  1. Lucy

    June 20, 2021 at 12:53 am

    How beautiful and raw.

    Liked by 1 person

     
  2. Mother Wintermoon

    July 24, 2021 at 2:09 pm

    Excellent! “A tree of possibility” — great line, trees are also ripe with possibility. 😉 Don’t hide…go for the ride.

    Like

     

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