The withered crone has seen the world.
Of beauty, pain, and fear.
The withered crone has been the beaut,
Feted, fawned, and cheered.

The withered crone has seen the man,
His snarling, stumbling, fall.
The withered crone has seen the child,
Gangly reaching tall.

The withered crone has seen it all,
And through it all remained.
The withered crone has cried with time,
Yet laughs upon today.

The withered crone is nothing but —
Her mind’s a dangerous knife.
Within her lies a knowledge sharp,
Hard-fought throughout her life.