She wandered the forest in the witching hour, a drumbeat in her veins
The tattered dress once of silk and lace hanging in rags on her frame
But this pilgrimage is one to make through the painstaking trek
No-one believes her, but she gives not a care,
They say she imagines things that there’s nobody there
Nodding to themselves and one another about the “silly old woman ” who meets her lover.
She comes to a clearing and begins to dance
Slowly in circles, building up slowly and losing her years
Till the young girl she stops in mid twirl on a carpet of clover
Behind her a light shines over her shoulder of creamy white skin,
And it comes from within the nearest trees
The table is set with a lamp as she turns, a long cloth of moss it’s cover
He’s here, and is serving the food, the wine
To the lady in the emerald silk, with the pearls at her neck
Her spinning took her back to the time he was here before
She’s to go back soon but she knows it’s really and truly just fine
For then they will be together for all of the time
The banquet is finished, lights are dim, she sighs
Quietly hugs him goodnight, no words are exchanged
Once again old, dressed in tattered rags she hobbles to her home
A smile on her face and a wave from her hand
She closes the door and gets ready for bed, shabby dress on a chair
Will she tell anyone of her travel tonight?
This time she thinks it’s my secret, they all think I’m mad
But have no idea what they’ve missed by closing their eyes to the light
ailsacawley 