POEM TWENTY FOUR

Sometimes

 

The witch lifts her staff at dusk,

shimmers as last light

glances off wood and metal.

She disappears like a contrail

in the wind,

a glamour of pentagram

fades into night.

 

Marmalade cat waits,

watches from the window.

He taught her well.

Image

Image Source:

creativecat.net

Poem by C.J. Prince

2013

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About cjprinceauthor

I write. I read. I write and read...I listen to raindrops on begonias, talk to ravens, dance with dragons. I practice Tai Chi in a barn, I sleep with earth stones and tarot cards. I celebrate each day. Join me!
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