We Wove Tales
Occupied otherwise with anxious concern,
We turned to the low-trilling voice
Fancied within the beating of all hearts that yearn
To follow a path of visionary choice.
In a deep woods, in a world of imaginary glory,
There was a bare spot worn by ancient feet,
Littered with time-bleached bones from many a treat -
Words laying there to be built into a story.
Upon a mountainside we bundled for sleep,
But turning our thoughts to a magical height,
We heard the beckoning fairies weep
To have a share in one more mystical sight.
From a cliff, from a lofty granite steeple,
Water in silver mist cascaded down,
Piping the ballads of lost tales and forgotten people,
Into an emerald pool, where all sorrow drowns,
And only happiness may at last prevail,
Where elves and dwarves together for treasure endeavor -
That never-tarnishing metal of the tale,
Ringed round with iridescent intrigue forever.
Witches, warriors, unicorns, and fauns,
Appeared and disappeared without a trace.
And children of innocence roamed immortal lawns,
Lending good and evil a single face.
I remember when we painted pictures on empty air
To calm the growing twilight.
In the deepening hours of despair,
We wove tales to cheer the night.
~ Daniel F Mitchell
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