The cabin squats in a thicket of wood
Its thatched roof overgrown by sprouted acorns
Inside the remains of its matron
Hunches over a secretary covered in dust
The walls bear shelves of mason jars
Each one home to a different herb
All meant for healing one disorder or another
The kitchen table reveals the final working
Lovage, pennyroyal and marshmallow
The labels declare the contents
A cauldron reveals the work in progress
Salt here or there to keep away evil
And the Book of Shadows filled with notes
Of the trial and error of what nets gain
All of this power of a secluded life
Yet the old woman succumbed
To the same passage as us all
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