Crone

by Debborah Jensen

No more living parents to buffer between worlds,

illusions of being a child gone, you're the elder now.

You're the crone now, the last before the sage.

Time goes through the hourglass, this body it does age.

Phases of a womans life, Child, maiden, crone.

The truth of this circle is, we all die alone.

I am in the Crone phase, they look and see I'm wise,

Funny I don't feel so, it feels like a disguise.

I seem to have the answers to the questions that they ask,

It's only because, I've been there in the past.