Poetry By Willow Dancer


Wind whistling through the cypress
fog rolling 'cross the moor
a rustling on the footpath
comes a rapping at my door.

A lass of years ten and eight
had found her way that night
she stood there right before me
in a gown of linen white.

Looking tattered and disheveled
with a scent of pungent mace
I knew her without lifting
the cloth that hid her face.

Laying draped across her shoulder
a faded length of tartan weave,
that bound us both together
on that sacred hallows eve.

In another time so long ago
we were sisters she and I
dancing on the river bank
when we heard the banshee cry.

Lightning flashed above us
fates decended from their cloud
unearthly wings embraced her
with a wrap of raven shroud.

These many years I've wondered
time and time again I've tried
to walk between the thinning veil
and meet on the other side.

Tonight you've come the distance
an apparition of a life before
twas' a rustling on my footpath
came a rapping at the door.

Willow Dancer

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