Just a Potion Seller, in a Travelling Show

Ice halos spawning blizzards

Outside howling wind ripping hard

Inside next to dancing flame, red-blue

Wondering, the last place I saw you

A travelling show in one of those towns vague

Now gone, carried away by drought and plague

The night crowd had drifted from the place

While I was having a tattoo cut into my face

I felt your scorn as your face was lit by flame

So I asked your name to dim the pain

But you shrugged, Just a potion seller

In a travelling show

A beggar 

Herbs and stories to blend

Waiting for the world to end

Note: I was shooting a festival for a country singer friend of mine. One night, as the singers paused for dinner, i called in to get a tattoo at one of the tents. As the artist drew, we talked about kings and princesses and waterfalls. From the shadows another listened, before laughing at our petty attempts to outdo each other's discoveries. She identified herself as a potion seller and told us the story of a fantastical cascade up near Rams Head in the Australian Alps. As it turned out, the story was true, the Tin Mine Fall does exist. When talking to a potion seller in a travelling show, set aside the real world, for it is of no help.