The Summer Crone~ )O(


The merry ole crone is out for the day
Broom propped “straw up” while she is away.
Her skirts are cotton, she smells of a rose.
By her violet door, herbs and flowers now grow.
Sage and Rosemary sizzle there in the sun
The labors of summer, yet to be done

In her heart, she conjures the death of it all,
The sacred bend of harvest and fall
She walks~ clutching the call of a dove
The wheel ever turns~ below and above

Comments, comm...on! I know you're busy, but what the hey?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s