The Crone

There is a hill
far in the east
no shadows touch
no winds do touch
The crone she sits
she crouches low
and watches us
there down below

Her lips are thin
her eyes are wide
her skin is old
and by her side
a raven on an icy stem
does nod to her
and stretches wings
it calls and flaps
as if to say
her time is near
it’s on its way

She will bring the frost
she brings the cold
she brings the time
where winds to blow
and lands afar
where night is king
she asks of him
to bring east winds

She is the crone
the winter’s night
the creature dark
who hunts at night
She brings the frost
she brings the snow
but also cares
that far below
the summer creatures
sleep quite warm
under her sister’s
golden throne

Her time will come
her time will pass
when gods and sun
will live again
But now she waits
with raven’s friend
her death will come
at winter’s end
and sleep again
and go below
and wait till the east winds
start to blow

[Audrey ‘Stormy’ Haney is a poet and artist from the lands of Sussex in England. She has been published in a verity of pagan themed anthologies.  She lives with two cats, a dog and a selection on feathered friends. Please visit her at]

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