'could i, a slip between cracks
would i find to the narrows'
'go sleeping on those hills,'
she suggested, offered, obliged
the moorlands her finger drew
'lichened stone to rest a head;
a blanket of peat to cover you
and heather to tincture your sleep'
i did as bid, grew antlers thorned
as i slumber a top that tor
i fell betwixt place and moor
having given self to evermore
7 responses to “evermore”
What a haunting little poem. Those fae are tricky aren’t they?
One must be very careful in dealing with the Good Folk.
Perfect tone for this piece, Michael. I trust that they woodfolk were appeased.
When I woke up nine years later, they were all smiling.
The darker side of me is questioning why 🤣
Shaving cream in the hand while they flicked my nose with a feather gag.
Heeelarious. Not.
🤣