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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Natalie Gramer


 

The Tithe

We pay the teind as years count to seven.
The devil waits for our charioteers.
Lest the knelling draw all of us deafened.
The bells drown out the shrill of Scottish tears.

The devil welcomes our charioteers.
A changeling, however loud it cries,
Cannot replace my long-lost babe with tears.
The Faerie Queen has preyed with her allies.

Your wee sweet babe, however loud it cries,
Is helpless, still, as fae latch on and take.
The Faerie Queen belies with her allies.
Miasmic magicks Mên-an-Tol can break.

All helpless, we, as fae latch on and take.
How the knelling drew all of us deafened.
Miasmic magicks - mother's hearts do break.
We pay the teind as years count to seven.