Holly Ducarte

Writing, Adventure, and Intrigue

82 notes



You know I am here,
And that I see you in the clear­ing
Among the acorns and twigs,
Propped up against the oak
In a silken gown ripped at the knee.

From the clutches of Cú Roí
I had taken you, over hills,
And now the acorns are stained
And his men head back.

And you have taken my blade, have you not?

Mem­o­ries of the sod­den path,
The dusty sum­mer track,
Carv­ings in the trees,
Fade with the blackbird’s song.

Lit­tle Flower at the oak’s foot
Holds the mud’s gaze.

©2014 Andrew Wells

(Source: dagdapublishing.co.uk)