Water Witch

Coming home,
dousing for water with a willow wand,
I am pacing like a blind man
with eyes keyed in to the spirit world,
to the water spirit.
She’s a ghost with a grudge,
this one is,
hiding under ground and never speaking.
She leads me on.
When I met her
I had visions of beauty in a golden sun
and dazzling grace;
I thought she was the goddess herself
when she looked me in the eyes
and burned all my vision to ash.
But it was she that withered
leaving behind only the old willow wand.
I suppose that makes me the fool.
I’ve grown old in my pacing.
Coming home I come blindly;
searching in the sand
I always miss what I lost;
coming with my wand and stepping blindly,
I am walking on her grave.

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