She fashioned fell dream catchers,
In a cottage by the sea,
Spinning threads above the beds,
Of folk that she did see.
She wove them from old jumpers,
And flotsam from the bay,
Stringing them with lucky charms,
For each and every day.
She bottled dreams and sold them,
To passers on the street,
Filling heads with palimpsest,
In this she was replete.
She plucked them all from shadows,
When a Hunter’s moon was waning,
Tying hopes around the ropes,
Of lovers in spring training.
She sang to those in mourning,
Brought solace to the meek,
Warming hearts in poorer parts,
Where liquor was too weak.
She brought with her a lantern,
That glowed a vibrant green,
Luring souls to succour,
The lacking and the lean.
She lived till she was ninety,
And helped all those she could,
Loving them with nothing,
Helping who was good,
Now she’s to her slumber,
The catchers do their work,
Roping dreams and things unseen,
In her enchanting cirque.
Touching Light 