Impetuous woman, you scatter your deck of
Bewitched cards before me, and ask me to choose one.
"This card," she says, "is your life hereafter."
It is blank, till she raises it to her lips,
And leaves the mark of her lipstick.
I take the card and put it in my pocket.
Later, I take it out
And see that the lipstick has smudged.
Now it resembles a work of modern art.
I find her again, in her shack in the woods,
And demand an explanation.
Instead, she scatters more cards
And has me pick again.
She says, "This is the card of what has been."
I look, and the card turns to dust.
I leave, my mind teeming with bewilderment.
I hear her humming, and I want to go back,
But something--maybe her magic--
Keeps me from doing so, and I continue down the path.
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