Once upon a time, in the land yon’ o’er,
there lived a young maiden with wisdom to store.
Who tallied the masses with words of save crass
that spoke of the future, a place that surpass.
She whispered, “I know a fair place
that measures a man by the plight on his face.
Despair, misfortune, fortune, and fame
tread the paths deep on the brow of the same.”
So the keeper, the woman of this land,
would tell of their future by the palm of her hand.
Raise high, she then, amongst the crowd that stood heed
And she said, “So his fortune would be.”
Clap came the sound as the young woman struck three.
“By the lay of her hand was the fortune to be.”
No man can guess it, but she could see
the wanderer’s path in the eye of the keen.
The crowd then grew silent as the woman, head low,
gazed at the stone now covered in snow.
Then she said, “She would then for a price.
Measure for a measure to know the end of one’s life.”
“20, 30, 40!” some plead.
That is to know the truth and to be spelled out in the trees.
“Oh, but the keeper, cunning was she.
It would not be so simple by the price of a fee
To barter for scrapples of dirt now priced;
no, what she sought was a life for the price.
“You should have seen them; the lady had gone too far.”
“To ask for a life seems awfully bizarre.”
The lady now cackled, then a frightening grin.
“Oh, but you have asked a Djinn.
To give you gods eternal, a secret no man should know.”
Asked by children, now covered in snow.
“And what do you offer me? Gems and leaves?
To ask of such as this–the wisdom of keys?”
So then a young man spoke–loud above the crowd.
“I give mine,” he shouted above the hum of the crowd.
The keeper turned to him, her eyes now green.
She asked him to repeat and then it would be.
He did without an instance, and suddenly, it was so.
The man shouted, clasping his hands to his throat.
Louder, he shouted in agony, no pain.
His eyes became distorted like the helpless and tame.
Until the eyes stilled, and he fell back into the snow
The once fearless gentleman was now covered in snow.
“You killed him! the crowds shouted.
“You cheated,” they cried out with a pout.
The lady with thin fingers raised them to the sky.
“I did no such thing. I answered the why.
You seek the answers, and I will answer what’s asked.
It is not my bearing to caution the task.
So he took what he tallied, but the tally was too great.
It is not my problem of the problems you do make.”
So with this, she parted, now with the crowd that withdrew,
stepping across the body of the man who knew
too much, it seems, and yet more will be asked
But the keeper, before leaving, simply said, “Be careful what you ask.”
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