"In the land of fey..."
Ulrich the Northman mumbled a song, frivolous as a drinking ditty or a child’s nursery rhyme, as he walked through the winter forest, his eyes scanning endlessly for red-berried troll bane to sell in the village.
“In the land of fey,
No morn is gray.
Though rain will come
When it may.”
Thus said a crow
I had come to know.
Her silly name
Was Icy Snow.
Icy Snow never lied.
Although once she tried.
It made her sick
And a bit cockeyed.
Now, her sight awry,
She grew quite sly.
She trained to sharpen
Her mind’s third eye.
The brooding winter passed.
She thrilled to feel, at last,
Her vision wake
With inner sight so vast.
In forest fey our paths did cross.
I stumbled through the fog and moss,
Mind a-whirl with fairy spells.
“I see your feet are at a loss.”
So now we never stray.
Her mind’s eye guides the way,
And in my ear she croaks,
“Let’s live our best this day.”
“In the land of fey,
No morn is gray.
Though rain will come
When it may.”
Thus said a crow
I had come to know.
Her silly name
Was Icy Snow.
Icy Snow never lied.
Although once she tried.
It made her sick
And a bit cockeyed.
Now, her sight awry,
She grew quite sly.
She trained to sharpen
Her mind’s third eye.
The brooding winter passed.
She thrilled to feel, at last,
Her vision wake
With inner sight so vast.
In forest fey our paths did cross.
I stumbled through the fog and moss,
Mind a-whirl with fairy spells.
“I see your feet are at a loss.”
So now we never stray.
Her mind’s eye guides the way,
And in my ear she croaks,
“Let’s live our best this day.”
///
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