Comes a Tune

a wandering trouvere with lute in hand
drists through the morning shadows —
filling the copse and glens
with a ancient, plaintive tune …

writ down the best I could —

faucon

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

E’er the Maid of Aine

‘neath branches tall and streams run free
to shade the soul, wash tears so clea’
there walks a lass of timeless Light –
e’r the Maid of Aine.

she lilts the song of darrow-day
that teach bud-flowers how to grow
and mists to rise from silent dew
to the mem’ried song o’darrow –
to the ever-tune o’darrow.

Through shadowed halls of castles tall
Goddess nurtures fain child in all
in heart of mother afore thee –
e’r the Maid of Aine.

she lilts the song of darrow-day
that teach young love to dance anon
and mists to rise from silent dew
to the mem’ried song o’darrow –
to the ever-tune o’darrow.

In meadows gold and fields of stone
she drifts from now to when and gone
as crone alive with faerie touch –
e’r the Maid of Aine.

she lilts the song of darrow-day
that gifts to Lore a rebirth dream
and mists to rise from silent dew
to the mem’ried song o’darrow –
to the ever-tune o’darrow.

~ by faucon on February 6, 2007.

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