Grey Susan

They say there’s an old witch who lives on the hill,

No one has seen her, nor knows if she’s real.

Her house stands abandoned, weathered and still,

Like an old scar that lingers, refusing to heal.

They call her Grey Susan, the elders all say,

She once was so lively, before love slipped away.

Now her heart beats for no one, she stays out of sight,

In her house on the hill, shrouded by night.

If ever you see her, have pity and care,

For her smile once sparked flames in hearts ev’rywhere.

Now her veil of grey hangs heavy as air,

Over locks of long silver, like a sorrowful prayer.

Grey Susan, they whisper, was once a great beauty,

She’d bring flowers down from the hill with pure duty.

A basket she wove from the reeds in the glen,

But that was long before love left her then.

So if you should meet her, seek kindness awhile,

Offer a flower, a word, or a smile.

And perhaps, if you’re gentle, your heart free of guile,

You just might see Susan’s own smile for a while.