every year she comes to town

carrying nothing but thoughts

still every year they weigh her down

her tapestries of plots



so many plots,each unraveled yet tied

drawing you in with her nets

couldn't escape if you tried

she tells everything,never forgets



the faintest whisper

loud as a storm

air full of glister

as her voice grows warm



warm as the fires lit at night

to keep away the bitter cold

or hot as summers and bright

you never know what her voice'll hold



she speaks so softly

yet the pictures are clear

she tells them fondly

for everyone to hear



once you hear her stories

they'll be yours aswell

they don't fit categories

but they're yours to tell