The Fey of Faringlade

The leaves of the birch

In Faringlade

Rustle softly and whisper susurrously

Of sweet enchantments that once were

Of when they ruffled their laden branches playfully,

Threatening to tip their delightful fey friends

With their dangling legs swinging as they clutched,

Giggling,

Onto the bending sprays of greenery.

 

Once, they cavorted ’round the elder boughs,

Plaited flowers in each others’ hair

And skipping high in splendid song,

Holding hands as they danced about the trunk.

The fey would crowd beneath the trees

The ancient trees of Faringlade

With babes and food and twinkling lights,

To tell their tales, both old and new,

To come together and remember

What wise ones said in the ages past,

What the current ones could say

About the things to come.

 

But now the fey have gone away;

Departed to the sea.

Over waves and continents they sailed

To feel the sea breeze whirl their clothes,

To find new, untainted lands where they could continue

To live their short and luminous lives

As they wished: without constraint.

 

And where once stood majestic,

The trees

Now stoop with sadness

For there are none to play and talk with;

There are none to listen to – no tales that await the telling

For the fey of Faringlade

Departed long ago.

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