She weaves her magic
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye
And up and down the people go,
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
By the island in the river
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerily
There
she weaves by night and day
A
magic web with colours gay.
She
has heard a whisper say,
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
Through the silent nights.
(26th poem for NaPoWriMo)
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