Wee Ones Return, A Solstice Poem

 

The Mist of Avalon

Up earlier than the worm

Too early for most moist awareness

Quickening the paper of my awareness

I moisten the fold of night's remainders

Is it now time to dance through the fairy ring?

Mist is upon the land & in the fog of exploration I sit

I wait for the wee far cry of the other world

I will not be alone no more from my wee people

of the mist

wild world, wild wood, wild calls, and dances

of an ancient time

I sprout my fey & they no longer trim my ears

to keep me safe, safer is the plain than the moist

calling of this sea of wee wind and cockle shells

I sing the song of my past as the Morrigan

of the black hills of Avalon. A black goddess

of the Moors, the swan guarded mist of the Isle.

I hear the pitch in the mist, & there be no coins

on my eye.

~ Raven SuSane