The Old Crone of Beauty

Switching from being mostly a book author to a freelance writer has caused my creative writing to slow down. Recently, I have felt the desire to return to it. So, I took a short mental break and was able to come up with two short pieces of writing. I am unsure whether to call them poems or prose. Nevertheless, I hope you will support me and enjoy one of them, which I will share with you today.

The Old Crone of Beauty

The Old Crone of Beauty, people often seek purely out of curiosity. No eyes have ever grazed her face. Always shrouded and hunched, how could anyone be of beauty and such? No one should care except only for the wares that she brings.  
  
Salves for wounds, tonic to drink, beautiful rose-smelling oils, and soaps to erase your stink. Sometimes there'll even be yummy cakes and jams that the town folks clamor to have. As a pretty young girl, she hosts her market stand.  
  
One day a young lad became brave to ask the girl has she seen the Crone's face.  
The girl smiled, saying, "Ay." To which another boy piped in to say, "Is it you, my lady?"  
"Nay," she did laugh. "I am not that blessed for her beauty; I cannot compare. Though she
does beg to differ, for I am young and vibrate. She says her beauty and her heart have long
been dead. But she is the most beautiful I've ever seen. Her pain, I think, is what makes her so pretty. For no matter what unkind, she finds love and beauty inside."  
  
The boys were silent, and the young girl smiled, giving a nod, and turned away. The young lad had to see the Old Crone of Beauty for some reason that day.
  
That night he dared and ventured to the Old Crone’s home. The Old Crone did not live in
some deep woods hidden but on a hill between the forest trees. The lad soon reached the
well-worn path that leads up to her home. As he started his journey up, he knew he would
quickly see her glowing lantern flames shine bright for the weary traveler that may come in
sight. Instead, he would be her guest tonight.  

As he approached closer, he soon saw the illumination of her little cottage and soon the
Crone herself as she came from around back into view. The lad gasped as he saw the Crone freeze.  He saw she was carrying a basket probably filled with herbs and berries and grasses. Straightening up her stance, he saw a hand come from her shrouds, reaching up to pull back her cowl. The boy gasps again.   
  
While age seemed to have weathered her hair to gray, her skin, her face glowed with a beauty almost perfect. Coming out of his trance and finding his voice, he called out, "You are not an old crone of beauty! Just beauty, I see."  
The Old Crone couldn't help but smile, making the young lad's heart flutter all the while.  
  
"Come back another time," she said. "The night is not looking so divine." The Old Crone points up to the sky. The boy follows his gaze to see a flash inside the overhead, dark clouds. The boy looks back to protest. To maybe stay the night instead when the Crone was gone, nowhere to be seen.  

The Old Crone of Beauty.

By JannyC, All rights reserved Copyrighted(c) 2023