The Crone

Off a distant mountain
Past a misty shore
Under a sky of burnt umber
Brushed with a luminous gold ochre
Down a road of river rocks
Around a lush jade glen
By a brook of Athena's tears
You can find her now and then
Hair like silver moon beams
Shimmering from the sky
Loose around her waste, it flows
Not braided, pined or tied
Lips of crimson soft and plump
Her eyes a brilliant green
Dancing 'round a fire pit
Is where she is often seen
Dazzle her with sentiment
No nonsensical stoic pride
Because she shall find the secrets
You try so desperately to hide
Blow a kiss in her direction
And if you are lucky you will find
That all your dreams and aspirations
Will come to you in good time