In the Sidhe

We fiercely dance in Dreams,

toe-taps, curtsies, and bows,

Mab, I, the Fever Scream

howling, furious, Proud.

Candlelights burn brightly

as we Spin. We will traipse

careful… delicately…

lest we exhaust, collapse.

Good Mother Mab, grant rest,

a mere moment to breathe!

Our Child, borne by this Dance,

rests with Me, in the Sidhe.


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: