The Hawthorn Tree

The Hawthorn Tree

A Poem by Mizar

He'd come to her before the light

The reigning of the Fae

Grey mist between both day and night

When fair folk come to play


Beneath the blooming hawthorn tree

He'd sing her lullabies

with hair as black as deepest sea

With green as emerald eyes


And from her sill, she'd strain to hear,

With burning heart a fire

The spells he'd whisper in her ear

Amidst that sleeping shire


But come the creeping golden rays

Of dawn's bright morning sun

And he'd as soon as slip away

Before the day'd begun


“Come down to me, my little dove”

He called to her one night

And though her heart was light with love

Her foot was slow in flight


The Sun was a burning flower

When she reached the iron gate,

The bird's sang morn's sweet hour

She'd come a breath too late


He did not show his face next night

The first he'd stayed away

She'd wait for him til dawn's pale light

And missed him through the day.


Twice more she'd wait, twice more in vain,

Til grief did take its toll

Until she'd thought he'd up and slain

Her precious heart of gold.


When upon third night, she neared the sill

And beheld a gory sight;

A hawthorn branch, a breast so still,

A bird plucked from its flight.


“A sign of danger, from my love,

I was too blind to see

And in his peril sent this dove,

In desperate need of me.”


She, fearful of her love's distress,

Flew to the Hawthorn tree,

And in the shadows, with finer dress

And eyes of emerald green.


Relief did fall upon her heart

At the smile on his face

And grieved at having been apart

They fell into embrace.


“Ah, my Sweetest, my darling dove,

I knew I'd find a way.”

She thought he meant the phrase with love,

“Now, come and meet the Fae.”


With eyes all wide and blood astir

Trailing behind her knight,

It never once occurred to her,

She'd seen the last of light.



He comes to them before the light

The reigning of the Fae,

Grey mist between both day and night

When fair folk come to play.


Beneath the blooming hawthorn trees

He sings them lullabies

With hair as black as deepest sea

With green as emerald eyes.

© 2015 Mizar


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Added on January 23, 2015
Last Updated on January 23, 2015

Author

Mizar
Mizar

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