Second Sight

Poem, Folklore: I went to them, I broke my rule, I told them what I knew, They laughed as if I’d spun a tale, Refusing that it’s true.

Second Sight

I kept my visions to myself
For seeing comes with scorn,
My mother claimed I was Fae touched,
A curse since I was born.

She warned me not to speak of it,
Nor trust what visions say,
For those who look too long beyond,
Are feared as much as “They”.

But then I saw a blight would come,
our crops and herds’ demise,
A thing that does not wait for proof,
Nor heed what truth denies.

I knew just where the hedge would fail,
Where green should hold the line,
The leaves grew dark, the roots turned pale,
It fed beneath the vine.

The cattle shied from open ground,
The wells ran thin and sour,
A quiet rot without a sound,
That deepened by the hour.

I went to them, I broke my rule,
I told them what I knew,
They laughed as if I’d spun a tale,
Refusing that it’s true.

They called me touched and paranoid,
A girl too quick to fray,
And sent me home with softer words
To keep my mind at bay.

They dosed me calm with laudanum,
To make my visions cease,
Yet still the knowing haunted me,
Though drugged I found no peace.

So I turned back to older things,
To what our mothers knew,
To salt laid thick and iron set,
And rowan bound in rue.

I traced a ring and told no one,
My words they would not hear,
For wise ones work in quiet ways,
When truth draws too much fear.

They laughed to see the circle burned,
To waste what harvest gave,
Said I would beg before the dark,
For food I did not save.

It started small along the stems
A dust no one could name,
A dusty bloom that clung to leaves,
And no one thought to blame.

It spread through dirt just surface deep,
Then on tools to the field,
A silent creep of unseen spores,
No careful work could shield.

The stalks went soft beneath the skin,
Turned pithy, grey and thin,
Fruit collapsed before it ripened,
All rotting from within.

But where my ring had cut the earth
And fire had cleansed it through,
The soil held fast, the rot withdrew,
And something living grew.

My fields stood green against the grey,
My stores were left alone,
While all around the village failed
And cattle starved to bone.

They came to me when hunger set
Its mark in cheek and skin,
With lowered eyes and careful steps,
They waited to come in.

No laugher now, no easy scorn,
No mocking left to hide,
They stood and waited at my door,
Their pride now set aside.

I let them in, I shared my stores,
I taught them what I knew,
The salt, the fire, the iron set,
The old ways carry through.

Now when I walk they step aside,
Respect that carries weight,
A knowing passed from eye to eye,
That came to them too late.

They do not speak of what I am,
Nor name what I can see,
But leave their thanks in quiet acts,
And careful nods to me.

By: Heather Patton / Verdant Butterfly

---

---

---

Subscribe to Verdant Butterfly
By Heather Patton · Launched a year ago

A creative space with over 170 enchanting stories and poems. I write fantasy, folklore and genre bending prose that can step off the path into comedy, adventure or the unsettling at any moment.

---

Online threats are crimes — Report at tips.fbi.gov

---

© 2026 Heather Patton · The Verdant Butterfly
Shared free with love for this community.
Please credit the author when quoting or sharing, and never republish without permission.