Wild mushrooms damp with early morning dew
still hold the scent of dark seductive night,
pubescent ripeness shyly held from view,
pink round the gills, and satin skin stretched tight.
Beware all those who step within this ring,
their dormancy of dreams undone by dance,
for faerie folk weave magic here, to sing
their souls adrift, to captivate - entrance.
Let lambent leaves of oak shake off the shade,
let wind and withy spindles spin and sway.
But, in the faerie circle, all things fade.
All those who enter in are trapped by fey.
In webs of woven moonlight evermore,
all memories of bacchanal are gone,
the revelries they dreamt at witching hour,
in mocking echoes fail. The curtain's drawn.
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Author Notes
Image by Trevor Rickard [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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