The Willow Man

The willow man’s breath fogs the window
He scratches the glass with twiggy fingers
You hide your head under the pillow
But the voice of the wildwood lingers
It follows you into the edges of sleep
And echoes in the spaces of your head
Under your straining eyelids it creeps
And flavours each indrawn breath with dread
The willow man’s breath is as cold as cold
And his fingers are knotted and strong
No matter if you be in childhood or old
You will suffer the ice of his song
The willow man’s breath chills coldly
His twiggy fingers scrape your throat
Will you face the willow man boldly
Do you have fear’s antidote?

© jane jago 

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