The Crone Poem by Elizabeth Zara Pagan

I will not soon forget the day,
When I was reading on the deck,
I felt a cold gust of wind,
Breathe heavy down my neck.

As if magic, a woman sat beside me,
An old evil-looking crone,
She had unwavering wicked eyes,
That froze me to the bone.

It gripped my mind, shivering the senses,
When the candles blew away,
And the potted lilies of the fields,
Wrinkled then shrank to my dismay.

The right words I strive to utter,
Drowned in silence one by one,
When the voice of dark intention spoke,
'I will be back before the midnight sun'.

Copyright @2008 Elizabeth Zara Pagan