She reads palms, auras, and Tarot,
And tells her customers such things
They half yearn to hear, seem to know
Already... or what the future brings?
Who seeks her out? Those who forsake
Their priests, turn from stubborn facts?
Is she entertainer, healer, or fake?
Paid for all she "sees" or just acts?
Does she heed ghostly sounds that chime
Like dreams—or visions, or mere ploys—
To slip the harder weight of time,
And gain back what tomorrow destroys?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem