Seven years is nearly up,
The blood-tithe is due.
Carmine, darkly red,
Infants,
Nearly dead.
Mortal
Donations
Siphoned.
Bones and flesh
Abandoned.
Most
Trace of life
Exhausted.
One day
They’ll be
Exhumed.
He’ll arrive to collect the cup,
The chalice of The Faerie Queen.
The malice of The Faerie Queen.
Rich and coppery, fresh,
Carmine, darkly red.
Polly Robinson © 2013
Claudia is tending bar at the dVerse Open Link Night tonight and said ‘Two of my fav authors are C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien who created fantasy worlds.’ Both of these fine writers loved to walk the Malvern Hills. Go up there on a fine day and if you’re quieter than a fieldmouse creeping over the hillocks this is what you could see …
They steal babies, issue changelings,
Whisk the breath from the weak and the dying,
Suck on columbine, nectar, wine,
Live in dark drear hedges divine,
Worry farmers, worry swine,
Worry sheep and creatures bovine.
With their green-stained teeth,
Sharp, pinlike, pointy,
Bright waxed blond hair
That stands up dainty,
Knuckled hands and flaked skin fingers,
Thin, spiked nails like chiselled razors,
Fine and faintly whiskered chins,
Spite in faces, malevolent eyes,
Nothing can stop them, they’re from the dark side.
Polly Robinson © 2012
