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The Spell On The Copse
Here lyes long shadows and fading ferns,
Bracken is wilted and flowerheads droop,
Just off a country meadow the lane turns
Where buzzards practice a killing swoop.
Grasses dance on a light Southern breeze,
Cow parsley hedges bend whitely defiant,
Listening to the whispers from the trees
still laced with Old Magic, aged and pliant.
Creatures are still crossing the boundary,
All insects who stray over invisible line,
They too succumb to a fairy sound, see
the spell on the copse hasn't faded with time.
Wooed by the lilt they get drowsy or faint,
Drawn to the quiet not a thing does stir,
Here air has a strange almost metallic taint
and the brook makes you sleepy, have a care.
The barrows in the hills on distant horizon,
They hold secrets and treasures it's true,
Once in Ages of old there was a Chief's son
who loved a Fairy Princess that he knew.
And though their two worlds were opposed,
She built a sanctuary where they could meet,
Here in the copse to all Outsiders closed
two lovers met and in romance were discrete.
© .Garry Saunders
Bracken is wilted and flowerheads droop,
Just off a country meadow the lane turns
Where buzzards practice a killing swoop.
Grasses dance on a light Southern breeze,
Cow parsley hedges bend whitely defiant,
Listening to the whispers from the trees
still laced with Old Magic, aged and pliant.
Creatures are still crossing the boundary,
All insects who stray over invisible line,
They too succumb to a fairy sound, see
the spell on the copse hasn't faded with time.
Wooed by the lilt they get drowsy or faint,
Drawn to the quiet not a thing does stir,
Here air has a strange almost metallic taint
and the brook makes you sleepy, have a care.
The barrows in the hills on distant horizon,
They hold secrets and treasures it's true,
Once in Ages of old there was a Chief's son
who loved a Fairy Princess that he knew.
And though their two worlds were opposed,
She built a sanctuary where they could meet,
Here in the copse to all Outsiders closed
two lovers met and in romance were discrete.
© .Garry Saunders
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