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The heART of Ritual


Seasonal Poetry & Prose: 'Winter Crone', by Audrey Haney

Her clothes are dusk, folding shadows

She walks barefoot across the land

Her hair is Grey with streaks of white

that fall as snow as soft as sand

Her eyes are brown some would say black

Her face has wisdom in its lines

She is the crone, her time is winter

This Goddess can be harsh or kind

She touches flowers with her kiss

Her mouth is white, her breath is cold

And anything that's green and gentle

Soon does wilt and leaves do fold

Her hand caress the evergreens

where beasts do sleep in warm deep lairs

But they should mind this ladies presence

for cold can kill those not aware

But she has harsh though natural ways

The cold brings with it a sound sleep

And only old and weak unable

Shall sacrifice themselves to winters keep

Or feed another, clothe and wrap

Their resting bodies wont be found

She may decide who lives or dies

But to the earth their souls are bound

But winters short for those who thrive

Oh blessed hag, old winters crone

Soon the sun with shine once more

Spring time will have your icy throne

When the sun returns and darkness leaves

And the chill wont settle on your grange

Old Crone do sleep through summer months

until you feel the wind of change

'Winter Crone', by Audrey Haney

Art by Gill Smith


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