The Sage (Verse Ix, About Gretchel The White) Poem by Warren Atherton

“For ‘Gretchel the White’, her long story unfolds
In a time when a peace held the land;
Still a ten year old girl, as yet future untold,
As she sat looking down on the sand.

It was late in the morn’ when a bright light appeared,
And it danced like a kite over head.
Casting all thoughts aside, Gretchel stood as she peered,
And then followed the light as it led.

Down a meadowy path and away from the shore
Went the light and the follower-on,
To a shadowy nook by a young sycamore,
Where it halted, then flashed and was gone!

A grey, misty haze made a hasty retreat
And in place now what looked like a Sprite,
Dressed in leggings and blouse and with nought on its’ feet,
From the haze had begun to alight.

It held out a hand as it fell to one knee,
Curtly smiling, adept in its’ stance.
“Gretchel Carlan the White', yours will Tillanho be”,
And began an admissible dance.

All around there were chimes and the tinkle of bells
And her feet matched his every skip
As they danced from the nook to a dendritic-dell,
Just like twins that conjoined at the hip.

All the while they were dancing and laughing away,
Was the Sprite thinking hard on its’ plan;
That its’ conjugate damsel, in splendid array,
Would help kill all the perils of man.

In a no-distant future, a mad Witch would arise
And of Gretchel the need would be great,
Where she's slay this mad Witch and assure the demise
Of such entity hell-bent to hate….”