Nestled in the rock
The witch o’ the river,
Damp earth the bed
Upon which she lay.

Golden is the garb
The cloth o’ the hag,
Soft peat her pillow
At the end of day.

Dancing in a dream
The friend o’ the fen,
To the run o’ the river
Is nigh washed away.

Loose amid the mire
O’ the water’s edge,
A rush to her rescue
By the spry forest fae.

Snuggled in safety
Due friends o’ the night,
She rises from the soil
To greet the sun’s ray.

Steady on the rock
The witch o’ the river,
Embraces the flaxen
Left where she lay.

© 2002 Ruth Norman

 

Poem IndexA Bit O' My Poetry


Dreamsharer - Music For Your Dreams
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© 2002 Ruth Norman