The Clearing
Through the woods I carefully tread
Darkness surrounds and fills with dread
Silent clouds obscure the moon
Briefly break and lift the gloom
A clearing darkness once concealed
Parting clouds have now revealed
As I draw ever slowly near
The scene, obscured, becomes more clear
In the meadow two giant oak
Loom over trees of shorter folk
Dead leaves rattle on gnarled branches
And on the ground, hide where the path is
A darkened pool beneath the trees
Ripples in the Autumn breeze
Cattail gather at the shore
Insects buzz and chirp and roar
As I step into the clearing
Sudden quiet greets my hearing
There beyond the pond, a shack
Light shines out from every crack
Branches woven into walls
Over which some ivy crawls
An old woman, a crone, a hag
Dressed in clothes of tattered rag
Stands beside her ramshackle home
In her hands a mysterious tome
She beckons to me, calls me near
Moving feet I can't stop or steer
Greenish skin and bedraggled hair
Pointy hat and an evil stare
Hands like claws open the battered book
From which she reads without a look
What she said I shan't repeat
But my heart did skip a beat
What happened next I can't recall
It was a dream, that's all!
So I climbed out of my bed
And from my foot, a leaf was shed.
Copyright © Cynthia Saxton | Year Posted 2016
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