I have no tricks to play tonight,
nor will I prod a fire waged.
No enchantments as I bide
my passage into end of age.

The pumpkin's here--carved by my son.
My daughter has my black stockings.
The mirror notes the time has come
as bloodless days portray me, wing-

clipped and grave gray skies to night
nor have I strength to risk the flight
These omens of a barren field
reject enticement's final yield

from my own tests as devised
by Act III, I improvise.
Tonight I spend my time alone;
no virgin, I, not mother --crone..