The Birth of the Queen
Dwarves finish baking their bread neath stones.
As pixies and gnomes no longer roam;
but sing their songs from massive tombs:
composed on leaves of ash oak and thorn.
(The elves and drows all stand aback
in silent awe . . . lest the voices crack)
Bows of trees sway soft and slow:
to sweep away cares for those below.
Fireflies in dark fading night shine,
dancing; making merry star lines . . .
While faerie all as ever done
drifts off to sleep with the dawn.
Hushed comes the morn
in reverence; as smiling
my beloved awakes.
and comes into my arms
© April 2010 origionalmerlin
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.