A half wild rose caught
Between the pages of an old book
The petals fall with a
Puff of fragrance

Watching incantations murmured over
Dragonfly wings, bat’s eyes
Mandrake roots, cat’s bones
Crushed pearls stained with blood

So the petals fall raising
Dusts of memories like
Bits of torn parchment
Curling at the edges

Carelessly she picks a full blown rose
Unmindful of blood tipped thorns
She plucked at its petals – pink silk
Crinkling with her touch

Let’s the first one fall – for magic spells
The second for one true love
The third perhaps for witching hours
To find the ending she seeks.