Charm Stones

She still walks these hills
In her long black veil
Softly singing her solemn tunes
With her raspy, dry throated cries

Scratching the hillsides
With only soft breaths blown
Yet hard against the rock
Clinging to ageless holds

With boney fingers she caresses
Fingertips rustling through the oak limbs
Rusting some leaves to russet tones
Leaving others untouched just yet

We have gathered her thirteen charm stones
Which have fallen from her boney, cracked wrists
Encircled them in the Earth
And tindered small fires within them

Some we have left tied among the willows
So they droop just above the ground
Charming waters once again
To flow in these ancient creekbeds

We sing songs to send her on her way
Hoping she will leave us in peace
And let her fourteenth sister join the dance
Bringing happier hymns more playful in her youth