I have woven a tiara of night-blossoms
to crown your mahogany hair, 
flowers redolent with the bitter-sweet perfumes
of sadness and lost love,
with the delicate and terrible fragrances
of barely touched mystery
and the promise of hopes broken,
bright glowing stars of the night consumed utterly
in the chill light of an unwelcome dawn,
an unwelcome awakening to a dim but familar landscape,
so near yet so very far in space and time
to the landscape where we walked together
in sunlight by the sea.

As you sleep, I will gently set
this perfumed crown across your brow
and lightly touch the corner of your eye,
the delicate, sloping bones of your cheek,
brush, ever so softly,
the opening bud of your lips.

Gemma, my love,
when you awake this offering of pale flowers
will have softly dissolved
like ephemeral dreams of the night,
like the few precious hours
we spent together
in one common dream of love.

I will not forget the faerie glow of that
secret, hidden kingdom
or the light of neither Sun nor Moon nor Stars
that shone upon your face
and in your gentle eyes.

I wil not forget the songs you sang 
for me and me alone
in that place, so near
yet so very distant now
- as near as my own beating heart,
as far as the cold, enchanted beauty
of the glimmering stars...

Gemma, my love,
I will dress your hair each night
for a thousand and one nights
with the blossoms of sadness and lost love
and speak your name softly to the stars
and the angels that inhabit the spaces inbetween.
Perhaps, one night, your dreaming soul will find me there,
wandering beside that pale and milky river
that flows between the twin banks of Oblivion
and greet me as a friend
for whom you once did care
and, taking each others hands, we will
walk together again
through enchanted fields of love
towards another dawn.

Aegri Somnia Vana
On Glimmerdawn where Angels sing
and worlds shine on their outstretched wings
like pearls of rain cast from some cloud
by bright Sun lit with rainbow shroud,
I chanced upon a mortal maid
beneath a mighty Oak Tree's shade
and she was reading poetry
from some old Elven history.
And then the Prince of Morning came
and bustling in His sparkling train
a thousand Daemons of the Air 
and some were Dark and some were Fair

O sweet maid of Glimmerdawn
I spoke to her in quiet tone
I see the final page is torn
and shriveled brown within your tome.
Alas, she sighed so bright the words
they burned the page
- too pale to stand the Morning's rage,
too weak for Beauty of the Sun
and His full face to shine upon!

Then who knows how the tale might end
or what new issues might append;
but wilt thou, fair maid, walk with me
where the Sun sets by the Sea?
Gladly I'll walk by thy side 
and tossed she then her Booke aside
and lo! when starry Twilight came
we knew the setting Sun's true Name.

Sunset on Glimmerdawn
Ancient Ryddle

My nerves are on a knife edge 
and my kidneys in a spoon, 
my giblets in a pepper-pot 
and my left eye is the Moon. 
My kneecaps are tee-total, 
my big toes taste of prune, 
my buttocks are bi-focal 
and my brain a purple balloon. 
Monkeys swing beneath my arms, 
gazelles graze on my brow, 
my eyelids droop to midnight's charms 
as swift my back-bone's shapely dhow 
sails downstream alternate days 
between the Blue and Milky Nile, 
beneath and through the mid-day haze 
of crocodile infested miles. 
My nerves are on a knife-edge 
and my kidneys in a spoon, 
my giblets in a pepper-pot 
and my left eye is the Moon. 

Who am I? 
 Copyright © 2009  Willowdown

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