Lady Of The Hills

Picture by unknown artist




My lady of the hills,


Above ashes and broken mills,

May I have this dance?


Boots are soiled,

Hands are cracked,

Yet I know

You shall not draw back.


The fields of Caer

Bow at your feet;

Your fingers and the sky

Constantly meet.


I hold your hips,

Sturdy and cold.

Your white skin’s rough

Though sweet to behold.

Under my lips,

You do not shiver

But reply with glee…

What kind of madman would kiss a tree?



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