Wise woman

She clears her mind of the thousand thoughts

That tumble like dandelion wishes

Scattered to the wind

And as the canvas clears she is told where

The definitive guide tells her when to stop

Imperceptible to some the slightest change

But it’s there sensing

Heat where none should occur

Her lips move in silent prayer asking for the healing

To change things to a better state

Her hands tingling fingertips afire unable

Unwilling to remove herself unless she has done her job

The one she was compelled, called to

But she must do in secret

As who would believe in a healer?

Would you?

Ailsa