Tale of the Meadow
The clock strikes nine,
Ever so fine,
On that hour past eight.
It signals that the date,
Present soon past,
Doesn’t have much longer to last.
The sound of a chime,
The drop of a dime,
Echoes throughout the city.
It is then that the smallest chinks––aye, the itty-bitty,
Start to awaken with life.
With a flutter of gold,
Another story will unfold,
As the faeries take flight in night.
They’re a thousand different lights.
Some tiny, some great,
Some too gorgeous to rate––
Forget the others who aren’t pretty.
The faeries frolic and dance,
Through the meadows, they prance.
Were you to see such a thing,
Remember that faeries can do more than just sing.
Curses and spells,
They’ll bring bad fortune in swells.
Your limbs might grow thorny or hairy,
So don’t tarry!
Insulting a faerie will get you much worse,
For their anger never grows terse.
They can rhyme their words into a whim––
Even the youngest aren’t that dim.
Turn around and leave them be;
Their splendors are too much for you to see.
Magic is best left forgotten when the faeries take flight.
Faerie stories right before bed,
They always seem to go to my head.
I toss and I turn during the night,
Something in my mind feels a little too tight.
I wonder if these creatures are true,
Or if Mother’s painting them in a different hue.
She said the meadow is where they play,
Perhaps I shall meet them––see what they say!
Down through the streets,
Past the shoppe that sells sweets,
And farther than that still.
Ah! There’s lights on the hill!
I pick up my pace,
My mind starts to race,
And my breath is as wild as any thought.
Time to use what I’ve been taught.
I reach the top. Looking down at the meadow, I stop.
Amongst the blossoming flowers,
Are beings of supernatural powers.
They fly, they flit,
Upon mushrooms they sit.
Gleeful, I run down the slope,
Because in Mother’s tales I now have hope.
A lady with hair colored red,
Is the first to show dread.
Then, the beautiful faces all turn to say:
“Curse the human child upon this day.
Entering this place,
Without our grace,
He will fall to his knees.
Roses are red because of what is bled.”
I take a tumble,
As my heart begins to stumble.
What does this mean?
I shouldn’t have seen?
My skin begins to shiver,
I cry tears like a river.
How silly of me to not remember,
The faeries never want humans to enter…
-written by Valerie Taylor Oct 09 ©-
