Crone’s Bargain

Here’s heartsease, and you give me
your desire. I keep it in blue jars,
well-sealed. Just one pinch warms
me through a year of winter windy
nights, good as a peat-fire or cat-purr.
I’ll take the rope, too, strongly spun
of heart-strings and paper. Once
you leave the forest you’ll not need
it again, and ’twill serve me well
as a clothesline. Those shriveled words
in your bucket? Keep them.

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