adventures in dysthymia

Monday, December 14, 2015

The Fay, a poem

The Fay

If traveling through the fairies' gate
be sure to kiss goodbye your mate,
for it may be an hundred years
that your mate will have to wait.

When you pass into that air
of delight and appearance fair,
know glamour is the fairies' art;
all that seems fair lies cold and bare.

Count not the hour nor the day
as you sit feasting with the Fay,
a night, mayhap a century—
but with the Fay no man may stay.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

A throwaway, really, but it might be usable in a novel someday, maybe with revision.

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