These are a list of poems I found in a child's sketchbook. The age of the child was retro-estimated to be approximately five thousand years old, because this is an immortal elf child we're talking about. I am placing these here for safe keeping, and also in case someone needs to write their thesis on what sort of poetry five thousand year old elf children write on midsummer's eve under the moon.
The Ship
Its many sails were taut,
caught in the breeze.
Its anchor was all coiled up,
like a silver snake, around a tree.
Its rigging was like a spider web;
and men were many flies,
except that the men go living-
but the insect dies.
Its cannon were all ready,
to blaze the night away,
its keel was good and steady,
eve in the wildest fray.
Now i've told you all you need,
except one thing you should rightly heed,
though the seas be fierce,
though they toss you up and down,
be you loyal and honest,
to your kind and crown.
The Faerie Queen
The Faerie queen was clad in green
and danced beneath the hemlocks tall,
the trees made a roof for a woodland hall.
The hemlock boughs,
they made a wreath
or perhaps for the sun a shining sheath
and for moon's soft beam
the Fearie Queen was clad in green
and danced through a mossy dell,
for there a crystal spring didst well.
And far away she did go,
and where she dances?
No man does know.
The Tree
The tree is green, perhaps a sheen lingers in the boughs?
If so then I might inquire why, and how. But there is something sacred, in mystery as well as fact, so I will stop to wonder and forget what my knowledge lacked.
A heavenly host (five, ten, twelve at most) surrounds the tree. They hang from little silver strings as if hovering daintily.
We anticipate that Holy Date, when we open all the gifts. And as that day nears at an exciting rate, (as Christ did anticipate, his fallen flock to emancipate,) we gather round the tree.
Beneath the Stars
Darkness covers the sky,
revealing other worlds,
lifting the roof on high,
the moon shines like a pearl.
The trees whisper about wind,
making way for stars,
yet night is never blind,
torches wheel by hours.
Like lances they thrust their light,
piercing void with spears,
looking down from highest height,
they will shine for countless years.
Stars hold many stories,
gazers claim when and why,
but for us they hold a lesson,
to be diamonds in a dark sky.
The Shore
The ships go to and fro, from port of sand
searching for a rumor, a tale of a long-lost land.
The gulls are crying to the sailor,
the gulls are crying to the sand,
they are crying of a rumor:
a tale of a long-lost land.
The ships go to and fro, from port of sand and stone,
going far into the west, far away, alone.
the gulls are crying, the gulls are crying,
the gulls are crying amongst the sand,
they are crying to the sailor, of a tale of a long-lost land.
the ships go to and fro, from port of stone and wood,
trying to bring a Godly thing into this sinful world.
The gulls are crying to the sailor,
the gulls are crying to the sand,
they are crying of a rumor:
a tale of a long-lost land.
The ships are leaving harbor, leaving ports of gray,
looking for their celestial kin on a hill, far away.
The gulls are crying to the sailor,
the gulls are crying to the sand,
they are crying of a story:
a tale of a better land.
The ships have left this darkling world, a shell of empty sin-
they sail to that humble hill to join their angelic kin.
The gulls have cried, the gulls have cried,
the gulls have cried amongst the sand,
they have cried to the sailor, of a tale of a better land.
The Wind
The wind was whispering in the trees,
like a silent silver lance,
a short lived wintry breeze tht chose the leaves to dance.
the wind was singing among the stones, like a sad and solemn bird,
speaking of some holy bones, buried beneath a christian stone, to a sleeping world.
the wind was roaring in the rocks like a lion for its prey,
a roar that at the Nemian it mocks,
shattering the stillness of the night and echoes into day.
