The Crone Of Crow Creek Poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg

Beneath the moon a silent valley
Once home to a tribe of peaceful man
Long memories of an ancient clan
For their deaths – revenge the plan
Only one to count the tally.

An enemy came to do them harm
Through darkest night the fiends did creep
To slaughter innocents in sleep
And soon but one soul left to weep
Not one small voice raised in alarm.

And with the sunrise came the crows
Plucking out eyes was so unkind
And yet the dead did not seem to mind
For they already were quite blind
Immune to pain of further blows

Not one attacker of life deprived
Yet all of the villagers were dead
The creek then flowed a bloody red
In the silence a cry was heard
One small child, a girl, survived.

Raped and beaten, nearly dead,
The child crawled slowly into light
To view the horrifying sight
Her people slaughtered in the night
An idea formed within her head.

For years she struggled as she could.
She knew to live then she must eat
Young friends, family, forced to greet
She fed upon the only meat
Sealing the pact, just as she should.


All of her foes lived well then died
Not knowing that each cursed man
Would take part in her fiendish plan
‘Take my soul – I know you can.’
For a century, each night she cried.

Upon the hill a naked crone
Arms akimbo weaves the crime
Spindle legs must dance in time
Shrunken lips spew forth the rhyme
Once more they die to sooth her grief

War drums beat, a proud display
Trumpets sound then loud the bell
To summon forth the hordes of hell
No tales of victory now to tell
No cheering as they did that day.

Each hundred years they live again
A thousand warriors marching fast
At moonrise the great die is cast
Strong muscles for a late repast
White bones in her cauldron lain.

In a quiet, peaceful valley
On a hilltop sits a crone
A husk of shrivelled skin and bone
She will always wait alone
Another hundred years –
It soon will pass.