The Weaver

She smells of sage and sweet perfume
   Through snapping embers and smoky plumes
Her voice echoes like the call of a loon 
   While her body writhes like a tidal moon
She weaves her warnings of woe and greed
   "Prepare for the harvest of your last seed!"
She spins her tales of hard times and scorn
   But she only sings when demons are born

Reviews

[Briege Havern]

This poem is brilliant :) The imagery is haunting and beautiful.

[WitheredWhite]

Thank you :D

[Aehr]

A very dark, chilling poem. I love the description. The last line is a phenomenal ending. Thank you for sharing. Keep writing. x

[WitheredWhite]

Thank you so much. Appreciate that very much... feel free to check out my others. I will be posting more over the next few weeks.