Poetry By Willow Dancer





"Just Down The Lane"


A crooked ol' woman with very strange ways
lives just down the lane,
she's surrounded by the most curious things
some think her quite insane.

Her blooming gardens grow out of hand
with plants so strange and queer,
from the twisting vines to the fragrant herbs
each one she holds so dear.

She seems to collect most everything
from rocks to seeds and pods,
to tiny bits of cloth and string
all kept in earthen pots.

The cottage walls are lined with shelves
and jars are everywhere,
roots and limbs hang upside down
each labeled with great care.

A candle stub burns soft and low
and almost out of sight,
it seems to me like such a waste
with the sun still shining bright.

Sometimes I think she's so alone
with not a friend about,
I did however see late one night
her show a caller out.

She walks along the village roads
to where they meet by three,
I'm not to sure I heard her say
"My Lady, a gift for thee."

Many years do take their toll
her senses are quite dull,
she's rarely seen in the light of day
just when the moon grows full.

A crooked ol' woman with very strange ways
lives just down the lane,
the way she sings and dances
some think her quite insane.

Willow Dancer
07 -16 - 02


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