East of Twilight Where Faeries Still Abide
Where Faeries Still Abide
East of Twilight
East of twilight where faeries still abide,
magical Little Mountain is their home,
the fae will venture out at eventide,
rarely in the day do the faeries roam.
Oft behind my cottage I fill my tome
with some happenings I have seen outside,
or occasional times of visatations
from the good folk and our conversations.
Tis often I stay out quite late at night
and pause to listen to fun merriment,
when the moon is full or the stars are bright,
in this magical time fae sing and dance.
They celebrate the celestial light,
here in their own naturl element,
from my kitchen little cakes and berries
I place on china plates for the faeries.
A soft blanket, colors of blue and white,
I put out for the plates to set upon,
and the faeries gather, to their delight,
happy to see a feast upon the lawn.
It is past time to them I bid good night,
I must sleep now and they will party long,
my little friends bade their love to keep
within my heart, then off I go to sleep.
Such sweet dreams I had and slept for hours,
I brewed coffee then sat to watch sunrise,
the faeries had returned to their bowers,
then I saw something in my chair outside.
If you Believe
On my folded blanket, a wreath of flowers,
I wore it all day long, with joyous pride.
So much joy and happiness to receive,
if only in the fae you do believe.
Wreath of Flowers
This poem was inspired by my love for and belief in the fae. Often when daily stress piles up I will meditate and go beyond the veil to find peace in the land of the fae. The title for this poem, East of Twilight Where Faeries Still Abide, was inspired by the cottage I once lived in. The patio faced east and I had a lovely view of Little Mountain. Unless the weather was bad or it was really cold out, I spent the evenings out there writing in my journal which was growing huge. Since I went out after supper when it was twilight, and I faced east, hence the title came to mind and I liked it.
The poem format and rhyme scheme came from an old poem written by William B. Yeats which I came across a few years ago. I like the rhyme scheme very much, though it does get complicated at times. The last line in stanza three does not rhyme with any other line. I wonder why Yeats did that, but I faithfully adhere to his scheme. Each line has ten syllables. I use this style for poems quite often and think about Yeats, who is my favorite author of all time. Yeats also believed in faeries.
© 2019 Phyllis Doyle Burns