The Witch of the Tall Grass
A Poem
Blown-in spirals,
Twirling under sunlight flings
The tall grass of the meadow
Hid secrets under its yellow strings
Sometimes one could run into her,
Usually kids at play–
While wandering through the tall grass
Late into the day.
A halfling of lore
Forgotten to all but elders,
She hobbles around
Cane under her shoulders
Run if you see her,
Escape to the woods.
There she can not follow
And you’ll survive for sure.
But she has grown close
In this wild field,
All of its spores,
And the weeds it yields.
Concoctions and potions
She hides in snake dens,
From sleep to poison,
She masterminds your end
So children of the village
Are always told
“Stay away from that meadow
Till you grow old.”
They tell tales of Trent Talmson
Who wandered alone
And disappeared
Bones to the Witch’s throne
Of summer grasses,
This minefield is forged
The Witch of Tall Grass!
In fear, she is adorned.
Blown-in spirals,
Twirling under sunlight flings
The tall grass of the meadow
Hiding secrets under its yellow strings
