(Song of the Poppy Hunt)

Winter descended right at the moment
the swallows broke the news
with their invitation
to twilight brunch
Do you, can you,
saunter back,
once you step into the
New Moon’s glimmer?
The wind has stopped keeping time
and has now declared holiday evermore
From o’er the cliffs
the shadows slink round
embracing the rhythmic rotations
standing firm upon the grounds
they first pawed when
Gaia was just coming
into Her own stardust
with a tiny musical ping
that of the kaleidoscope chimes
blissful slumber begins to rise
howling melodies softening
into chortles
Closer … closer…
welcoming whispers engaging
the falling snowflakes
for a pirouette
round the Fae circles
It is now the Stag King
procession
to command anew
return to the blood lands of woad
adorned with heel-staccato commands
and flanked by the spectral sentinels
with your glistening eyes
lit by the Wild
Guide us … guide us ….
flittering wings wreathed in popaegs
rising and reclaiming
with the hounds

[Robyn Alezanders often dreams of dancing round the faerie circles in the moonlit rain. Her work can be found in Nemonymous 5, The Mammoth Book of the Kama Sutra, Everyday Weirdness, and The Very Best of Bare Back Magazine. “The Popaeg Dirge (Song of the Poppy Hunt) ” was created while listening to Sully Erna’s “Avalon.”]