What Can the Maiden Tell the Crone?

I’ve already been there, girl, where you are, watching my grandmother fade.  You can’t imagine what it’s like, to have gone so far for so long.  Maiden, what mountain have you climbed?  Of what battles are you veteran? Whom have you buried? How dare you come to me, and speak of hope?  Death is not yet calling you, dear child, no.  Whispering in your ear, reminding you that it is waiting.  You think you have had great trials.  Just you wait. Do not mock me with your optimism, fool.  Surely each of us has endured our greatest trial.  When you had your candy taken away you cried and cried.  Keep your hope, you’ll need every bit of it.  You’ll be told but you will not hear. You think your right, you think you know.  But one day you’ll fall, and wake in a bed.  And everything you thought you knew will come unglued.  No maiden you cannot know what this is like, how frightening, how shaken you’ll become.  Your youthful despair, your friends have left you, is nothing when compared.  Your friends have left because you were mean.  Mine have left because they are Buried, dead and gone. So come dear maiden and sit with me.  What can you tell me?


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