The Crone

Her eyes full of wisdom,

And her cloak brings the cold season.

Her staff pounding against the earth,

Waiting within time.

She is the third face of her form,

A powerful ancient being.

She embraces the dead,

With her hands weaving magic.

She is every woman,

Unbroken and without fear.

She cast her spells,

To help the dead cross.

The only trace of such Celestial being,

Is the cold chilling breeze,

Within the frozen trees.