The Fairy Child

My mother, called me a 'little shite', but...she could never pinch me off. I told her, there was nothing to forgive, for a sin she never...admittedly did. She let me run in wild woods. She watched me skate on very thin ice...I watched her dirty laundry fly, and disappear, one day...as it leap't from a cliff. She got on her knees every night to pray...she said...for me, and every night...I prayed for her, but I was a little boy. I didn't know, the shape of a nose...would cause a political rift, in time and space; or...that I would be flung, from a love, supposed...to another place.  

We are things, that we'd not chose. We find them hard...if we're never told. The day we do, our lips are sealed...by the doom o' the frozen eye. I loved her, and I do,and shall...now, she has passed and gone along, and there's no one , will tell it true...whatever wasn't said. It's all a fey, and fairy hid, the fairies left, with nothing said, to who knows where...they go? Will I, then, pay the 'ferryman' a coin...when dead, if coin was kept, and never given to? One can only hope free lines, fain read, of poetry will do.

If I, a secret were...while, she a secret kept, were held a ransom...for a time, unspecified...I wept to know, and as the years passed by...no single whisper ever said...a secret kept...so well. Oh...I have aged...a tiredness now, as gossamer as ghosts, walking on their grave, and all I truly wish to do is lay me down to rest.


Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016,  Deming, New Mexico.

Art: hqwallbase.pw, Midsummer Night