Why so sad little girl
your eyes most tired and weary
muffled your voice
and droopy your curls
your face one red and teary.

I'm not sad says she
but my expression is doubt
and my hand reaches out
you cannot lie to me
your face says all in sorrowful shout.

She grabs at my middle
her arms in a hug strong and womanly
and though I know her not
and she is very young and little
I find her disposition most uncanny.

I was old before I was young,
says she, shattering the silenced crying
and I feel hot tears on my clothes
for a moment I am lost, confusion takes my tongue
as though I am listening to a souls dying.

When once upon a time long past
when black magic and witches held sway
and things unnatural roamed the dark
I found myself in company of terrible task
and by their hands was I turned this way.

For in honesty, lady, I am more than fifty odd
the years of my life reversed to this form
and should I wish to gain back my state
I must perform a feat matching that of the unholy god
and from the depths of hell release fiery storm.

Why, said I, in most humbled terror,
is the world so unclean it needs such action dire?
The world once filthy beyond all recognition
warned Noah and then washed in holy water
now is it the same baptism, this time by fire?

The little girl cried there for a long while
and when finally she let go, her face was old
she observed me a moment as tears ran dry
and then, by chance, did I see a glimmer of a smile
and following, manifest a halo of gold!

I recognize you said I and the child nodded so
and repeated lines from a poem I'd heard long ago.