Now the Crone - Richard Higley

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Now The Crone

The life she's lived has left it's mark

With lines on hands and face.

Etched deeply in, of joys and woes,

Too many now to trace.

The mother mode she's lived beyond,

Was not a life of ease.

The children that she raised back then

Still cause her heart to squeeze.

She studied through her maiden phase,

Of pagan herbal lore.

Which plants to heal a doleful heart

Or mend a weeping sore.

She learned her craft as did her dam,

Through hands-on show and tell.

She studied close, her mother's works

And stored her lore quite well.

Her beauty, nascent, bloomed, matured,

Drew suiters to her bed.

So lavish were her earthy lusts,

Strong men feared her to wed.

She took of seed so oft received,

And grew her small bouquet.

On boy, two girls, who thrived despite

Their fathers gone away.

Her mother helped her raise her brood,

As she'd been helped herself.

She asked protection for her home,

Of pixie, gnome and elf.

She passed along what she'd received

By rote, learned line by line.

Apprenticed daughters, supervised,

Did faithfully refine.

So now the crone, in her last years,

Is wont to take her rest.

She'd lived the life in Mother's care

And gave it all her best.

A/N – The photo above was inspiration for this poem.

Richard Higley © April 22, 2019

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