[griffonwing]

Here's the poem story I wrote ages ago. Some of the rhymes seems a bit kooky right now, so I probably have to go through and rewrite it. But here it is anyway.

------------ THE SATYR & THE MAIDEN ---------

In eventide, when sun's orange tint doth makes the heavens glow,
And casting on the waters of the sea
A brazen yellow rich enough to make a blind man know
What heaven has in store for him to see;

When twilight peeks above the peaks of eastern summit high,
And good old men retire with mate to bed,
Not all drift off in slumber, to the dreams of their good-nigh,
Not all, indeed, not all as I have said.

In garden of the Rose Hill, lost in thought about her beau,
The virgin mistress dreams of joyful days
When she and her beloved, on the ships of Maldeen Loue,
Left port one year ago, the ides of May.

It was then, upon this ship, whilst sailing on the sea,
They pledged their lives to be made whole and one;
But fate is cruel as daggers black upon the backs of thee,
Dark hilts whose steel can swallow out the sun.

They sailed across the Pools of Meurk, a black foreboding slough.
The ship a-sail through fog and murky brine.
The rumors of some evil magic flowed from men's borough,
As inky swells disclosed an ominous sign.

Thunderclaps and lightning flashed, bringing on the squall,
The young man came up deck and grabbed the rails.
The safety of his love, his only mission, only call
As the wind came ripping through the sails.

Her suitor fell into the murky depths, or so it seemed,
that night along the portside of the hull.
Now among the blooms of dahlias, rich in midnight beams,
The maiden sings a song to rend the soul.

She sings of days of glory fill, the times they spent together.
She sings of love so strong no spell can tear.
The embrace of her lover, lying down upon the heather.
Her mind's eye holds the image of her dear.

Now lurking in the garden, hidden deep among the copse
Of foliage that screens a shallow lair,
A satyr, keenly tracking out a rabbit as it hops,
Erects himself as perfume fills the air.

The satyr, with his pan pipe resting softly on his lip,
Begins to play a melancholy strain.
So true and sad, his aim to catch the young girl in his grip.
He knows she's here, somewhere, in grief and pain.

He plays his notes of hopeful heart, a haunting lowly chorus
Sure that she will follow to his calls;
She hears upon the wind a whispering core of deep remorse.
She follows to a rock, the tune then falls.

She sits upon the boulder, looking out into the night,
Reflecting notions of music in the breeze,
When all at once she feels a grasp around her, thick and tight.
Unconsciously, she falls down to her knees.

She's taken to a rocky cliff, the face of which is endowed
With bones of unnamed things on which he's preyed.
Into the cavern depths, they fade, the chamber she's bestowed,
And then upon the ground, the maiden's laid.

She wakes to find herself alone, forlorn in cavern grand.
Unbounding, brooding silence sets the mood;
But there behold, in corner dim, upon a table stand,
There lies a table cloth, red wine, and food.

She eats her fill, her hunger slaked, and sitting down to rest,
She stares into the darkness, all enthralling;
And stepping through the black, the satyr, gazing at his guest,
Says "Do not fear, though you see me appalling."

The voice of this atrocity, the power of his plea,
In shadow, perceives this to be her love.
"But darling, you were drowned a year ago, into the sea.
What manner are you, by the gods above?"

"There were two witches in the mire, sisters of evil ways.
They pulled me from the embrace of the storm.
That fateful night", the satyr said, "has haunted all my days,
Eternally I'll walk in goat-man form"

"I refused to give my liege to the Disciples of The Curse.
They held me captive, tortured by their hands.
I broke their snares and bonds, and then was damned among the worse;
I barely nigh escaped to other lands.

"This wretched life I can endure no longer, so much pain.
I ask you, one small favor to perform."
"What is it dear", she said, "It's done. The deed is your to name."
"I beg you take my life, as should the storm."

"My love," she said, "I cannot, will not lose the one I lost.
For I've now found you, saved you from your plight."
"O foolish child, you'll never know what burdens great you've caused."
And sadly turned and fled into the night.

The aching heart, the dying soul, the passing of the storm,
The urgent need to heed the forest's call,
The satyr, in the distance, turned a last glance at her form,
Then headed once again toward wildwood's wall.

The ghostly whispers of the wind come blowing through the cave,
A bitter air, the evening chill becomes.
The sullen heart has broken, spilling out the hidden grave,
As morning sun in hiding, never comes.

The muted silence rang as loud as thunder on the moor.
At last, contented peace the maid has found.
Her body lays upon the dusty earthen cavern floor,
But, oh, her soul, in spirit realm, abounds.