Fey Morn

The early morning dawn yet bears traces:
   dew and damp on garden table and garden flower
   fog holding back the world's reality
      and holding close the world of færie
   each forsythia, each sprouting mint in motion
      and still animated with thoughts of an else world:

The pre-dawn still spoke with them:
   their tears and sweat shed on table and flower
   their words and battles defying reality
      and contested in the weird and fey
   each tree, each rail, each ivy strand
      a part of their passing:

In the moonlight, I can see a tiny silvery unicorn
   galloping out of the ivy
   bounding onto the garden table;
Upon his back, rides an elven princess,
   full of grace and allure.
She flees from the deep, dank, dwarfish mines;
Her eyes darting here and there
   afright of followers.

Upon the table bounds another silvery unicorn
   rearing in the moonlight;
Upon his back rides an elven prince,
   full of grace and power.
He rides from the high, airy, silvan trees.
He lays eyes upon her
   and sweeps her into the safety of the apple tree.

There in his ærie,
   silvan elves smaller than the cracks between the bark
   work and play in their golden houses.
The prince carries the princess into his leafy palace
   overwatching his quiet, phantastic village.

But lo, as the moon sets and the night ages,
   a trumpet is heard:
A procession of elves appears on the table,
   sparkling in the moonbeams,
   haggard and tired.

The prince and princess upon their unicorns
   bound upon the table.
The prince hails,
   "What battle have you fought?
   What trial have you suffered?"
"We have lived for ages in the forests by the mines.
Like you we have taken the dwarves' gold and silver.
Our village was as fine as yours.
But the dwarves have moved beyond the mines
   to build their village upon ours.
Now we pass on."

The princess cries,
   "Was there one, young and rough and fiery who led them?"

"I do not know.
Never have I meant dwarves face to face.
Always they left their gold and silver at dusk."

Recalls the princess,
   "Yet, when I rode towards the mine,
   it was one such I encountered.
   He lured me to his crowded, dank mine and wept.
   His folk were ready to march.

"I say to you,
It is their age, not ours,
   unless we at dusk lay our gems upon them!"

The prince and princess returned to their arbor village
   and prepared to pass with the dawn ...

In the dawning light, the apple tree abandoned,
   the princess looking over her shoulder, turned back ...

©2010 John A. Mills