A Winter's Watch
Beneath the moon, a crone does tread,
Her ancient form, a sight to dread.
Yet, in her eyes, a gentle light,
A beacon shining, pure and bright.
She guards the land, a silent keep,
As nature slumbers, lost in sleep.
The creatures hushed, in slumber deep,
While winter's icy fingers creep.
She ushers souls, a solemn rite,
From mortal coil to endless night.
A gentle hand, a guiding star,
Leading spirits, near and far.
But still she cares, for life's frail spark,
The creatures hibernating, dark.
She tends to them, with tender touch,
Protecting them in winter sleep
And by the hearth, stories bloom,
She warms the hearts, dispels the gloom.
With tales of magic, old and deep,
She soothes souls into gentle sleep.
A winter's guardian, wise and old,
Her magic weaves, a tale untold.
A watchful eye, a loving heart,
She guards the world, through the dark.
