Eleanor Cragenore

Eleanor Cragenore the witch from beyond runs affore.
In the leafless trees and the empty winter beach,
drift wood and litter all fall within her reach.
Where she’s been happiness is bleached,
goodwill and goodness are leached.
Hopes and dreams are forever beached.

Eleanor Cragenore makes her mark,
bleak memory dark,
coarse like oak bark.
Places where there are no bees,
of cold and ice that run with lice.
The place with the closed door,
there you’ll find Eleanor Cragenore.

After dark she is there, the night fear,
casting all before in the path foreboding.
There she is goading,
dancing, darting across the tree tops.
She throws you sleet and rain with pain.
Your sixth sense draws muscles tense,
Eleanor Cragenore quickens the hearts pace,
delighted she breaks fear across your face.

Where happiness cries because weak fathers lie.
Places where beloved pets die.
In the shadow, in the dark,
the neglected rejected dog with no bark.
Nothing good there with nothing to share,
no one to care, there is only despair.
Only she Eleanor Cragenore is there
Smiling in the night air.

The horrible smell from nowhere.
Unexplained fear, the need to run
from apparently nothing in the sun.
That is Eleanor Cragenore.
Here is the need to write
before I too take flight.
Eleanor Cragenore is at my door
smell you too the sound?
Of her steps on the frozen ground?