Editor’s note: Here’s a throwback from 2021, from one of our favorite poets!
She comes to my cottage, adorned in
Cinders and ash, silver-gray as the artemisia,
Growing in my garden.
She comes to tell me there will be a ball.
That she longs to go. For her, my only godchild,
I gather sage, lambs’ ear and lavender,
Lemon balm and mint, beginnings and endings,
In an ancient basket.
She shall have a dress the color of
Rosemary blossoms,
Drawn not from needle or wand, but from wish,
Slippers crystal-clear as rainfall, though they
Are more difficult, requiring freshly gathered dew
And a stronger spell.
For her hair, a circlet of
Pearls from the ashes so readily at hand.
Her scent, roses and anticipation.
A carriage from a pumpkin.
To break a spell of envy, gratings
Of lemons and oranges, but
No love potion. That is her work, not mine.
Bio: Deborah W. Sage is a native of Kentucky, USA. She merged her talent and interest in her first published book of poetry.
A former business executive who after years of being committed to the bottom line is gaining equilibrium in her psyche through her endeavors in folklore.
Image of lemon balm from Pixabay
Comments