Crow Shaman

Crow Shaman
By Laedie Willacaw

A tired soul, she gazes at the sunset in the west,
The wind blows nill as the air feels compressed.
Exhausted eyes are surprised to find,
A Crone, of flesh and bone; her exhaustion would subside.
To follow her and her Murder of crows, she desires,
The lass' heart ignites, like a roaring fire.
"Crow Shaman! Crow Shaman! I follow thee,
To know the wonders and lore that ye can teach'eth me.
Your footsteps, I track, to get a glimpse,
On how thine old hands can heal these young limbs."
But before the lass could get close enough by,
The Shaman transformed into a crow, and set off for the sky.
But, see, our lass was determined. She ran as the wise crow flew,
And when waters were met, she'd continue by canoe.
To know what to know, to see what to see,
The Shaman had the key to setting her free.
A brisk chase later, the crow lead the lass to a hut,
She swiftly entered the hut and creaked the door shut.
But alas, there was no woman, no crow;
No talon, nor toe.
All that rested was an oldened chamber mirror,
The lass felt the energy pushing her nearer and nearer.
At her reflection, she queerfully gazed,
She saw the Crow Shaman, turned around, but the room was unphased.
Our lass gazed back at the mirror, and spotted a single crow,
The maiden laughed. Ah, now she knows!
The greatest consultant isn't a Mage, Sage, or Elf,
My dears, it's between thine ears- it's called thine higher self.
And so the lass carried on, doing what her and the Crow had in common,
For she found out, by a whisper not a shout, that she was the Crow Shaman.