The Price of Magic
The wind sings sweet around the faery ring,
under stars as old as time, yet do they shine.
on such a night a mortal man did cross the line,
and listening to the songs of faery, he did sing.
Subtle is the magic upon that emerald isle,
and he felt not the change, even as he did.
It touched him then and with inhibit rid,
he joined in the dancing round the ring awhile.
Drinking of the old potsheen offered with easy grace,
he saw an ageless wonder in each ruddy smiling face.
King Brian was in fine form, dressed up in dainty lace,
sat his horse in handsome style as off they all did race.
first light came tween dawn and dusk, he awakened at last,
and staggered down the hill and the day of things to do.
Yet all that day his mind played many a trick to rue,
he ached to go back, but the way was barred forever fast.
Long he sought the doorway, and in the end left in pain,
for heartaches would follow him, the price of crossing in.
On long nights he sits and listens amid the citys din,
and tries to hear a faery flute, somewhere in the rain.
Stay off the mounds and leave the ruins to the wee folk,
and listen not to the sweet songs, or have a lively dance
Or your soulll always feel the hooves of the Pooka prance,
and you will know the emptiness of their thoughtless joke.
Most dont understand the sadness in his eyes each night,
or the longing in his heart, for a time now truly in the past.
But I do, and I watch him walk away, either slow nor fast,
thinking of faery aglow, beneath a silver summers moonlight.