Among the trees and summer’s breeze,

I heard a lovely tune.

I found a nook beside the brook

and sat that afternoon.

The music heard had not a word,

a haunting melody.

But soon the song was loud and strong

in ghostly harmony.

I looked around.   What made this sound

that plays for me alone?

‘Twas nothing weird when he appeared

upon a mossy stone.

With flute in hand, he raised to stand,

and bowed with courtly flair.

Then, he was gone, the curtain drawn,

and vanished in thin air.

I’ll not forget – I’ll ne’er forget –

the twinkle in his eyes.

I’ve not a clue of what or who.

He left me to surmise.

These passing years, my heart still hears

his song and sees his face.

Before I die, I hope that I

can find again this place.

Author Notes

The Triquatrain form was created by Robert L. Huntsman. It is a quatrain poem in tri-rhyme with a specific rhyming pattern (see below). Lines 1 and 3 have internal rhyme whereas lines 2 and 4 do not. Rhyme Pattern: (a,a), b, (c,c), b

Of long ago, my mem’ry has returned

to searching for a place my heart has yearned --

the spot I sat beside the brooklet’s flow.

My mem’ry has returned of long ago.

 

He stood on mossy stone, his flute in hand,

beside a brook in that enchanted land,

and played a tune for me, and me alone.

His flute in hand, he stood on mossy stone,

 

We neither of us spoke a single word,

the haunting melody was all I heard.

The breezes blew the notes with gentle stroke.

A single word, we neither of us spoke.

 

When he was done, he waved, then disappeared,

not knowing my poor heart he’d commandeered,

and left me with the mystery he had spun.

He waved, then disappeared when he was done.

 

It will be found, this magic place I seek,

for I remember well its sweet mystique.

A promise made, a vow that has me bound.

This magic place I seek, it will be found.

 

Author Notes

I wrote about this place a while back. It was title "A Magical Meeting."

Chapter 3
The Wait

By damommy

I stand beneath the tow’ring trees so tall
in this enchanted wood where it began,
and while the leaves blow gently in the breeze,
I wait to hear the pipes and see the man.
 
But is he man, or sprite sent to entrance
the one who chanced to cross that magic seam
that joined his world to mine in time and place?
Or was it all one strange, peculiar dream?
 
‘Twas true. I know ‘twas true, and he will come.
If wait I must, I’ll wait forever here
for that sweet tune I know so very well,
the one upon my captured heart did sear.
 
Small creatures stir while I wait here alone,
and shadows change as day holds its parade,
but still no sign or sound of what I seek
drifts to this spot where once the piper played.
 

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