April 27, 2009

The Boast of the Hidden People

Seek our liches in wood or grit or down in trickling dark,
In sparrow or buck or silvery fish, you'll find us never and naught;
Our fetches are clear, like unto wind, though never one and same;
We are the earthy darkling things, waned ancient 'afore men came.

On windswept lands and seven hills our crowns of old were raised,
On every tree we perched a-guard; on every tump our fires blazed!
In the lowest dale beneath our halls, whispering life took form;
We saw the sun make all things new, from every fort on every morn.

The world gapes bare, but just for you: bright air is still our home;
With Night our matron, Cunning our king, and trickery our song.
We are stealing cold and taking rot, the imps of nightly dread;
We are fluttering birds, May-warm breeze, by fearful offerings fed.


  1. Beautiful! Glittering with inspiration and craftsmanship. The first line alone is glorious for the way 'grit or down' initially evokes 'down' in the sense of 'feather down' but as you read on it reveals itself as a direction to head in 'trickling dark.' I find this immensely pleasing.

  2. Thankyou.

    I was going to say, "I think I've found someone who knows..."

    But, I think, "Thankyou" will do...