A hill born lass without a care
ruby lips and sun bleached hair,
soft bronze skin and sky blue eyes
unfledged mask was her disguise.

A clever girl of twenty years
soon set aside her childish fears,
concealed within a dim lit room
candles burn and incense fume.

She'd tell your future or your past
weave a web the spell she cast,
ol' stump table three sharp blows
the spirit healing magick flows.

Dried out shards of chicken bone
or symbols etched on shiny stone,
her visions seen in crystals glow
buried secret she could show.

She spent her days upon that hill
it's rumored that she lives there still,
old and stooped chaste aura bright
embracing life with mystic sight.

Willow Dancer
7 -20- 04


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