The old crone watches, eyes scanning for chances to gain
More to add to the purse hanging from her wrist on a chain
Nodding and smirking of her grizzled grey head
Cackles escape now it’s almost the day of the dead
She has gold aplenty but will spend not one piece
On something so tasty from cauldron will feast
One tooth sticking forward like a tombstone
Your body shivers telling you she can crunch through bone
What will you be on her table of feasting?
Looking back gingerly to the plate from your eating
And she’s moved leaving behind a most pretty young girl
Large blue eyes and long golden curls
Can you help me to find my old grandma she asks?
I have neglected her for other more exciting tasks
She hangs her head, tears in her eyes
Do you have the heart to watch as she worries and cries?
Through the door you’d never seen in the wall
The world is silent no birds seem to now call
Turning to speak to her changes you now see
Sweet voice of the old crone, young girl saying this is me.
Mocking you as your confusion she clearly observes
My sweet you had to see what your heart did desire
To not lose your mind, your humanity, nerves.
I was never to hurt you just open your mind
Now go home young one leave prejudice behind.
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015