The Fruitful Hands Of The Crone Witch


The Fruitful Crone

She has hoed her rows,
been baked by sun
Her back is bent
Her prowess lent

No time to cry
With tears to dry

Tasks and labor
Love to savor

Plant and sew
Her seeds shall grow

Reap the harvest
Wait for snow

Her cauldron brew, a hearty blend
Of Summer days and Winter winds

Quilts of  cotton, sunshine blessed
Baby faces, stroked and caressed

Son and daughters grown and gone
Empty the breasts they fed upon

Her Book of Shadows, she pens with care
Love and magick, she enters there

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4 responses to “The Fruitful Hands Of The Crone Witch

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