The forest's filled with magic on this night.
Huntsman, take care! Beware of giving chase,
Else you may find yourself the helpless prey.
Shadows confuse the margins of this place,
Enticing those whose will is weak, to stray,
Violating realms where laws of time and space
Extend and then implode like dying stars.
No man returns who heeds the call of fate.
There, in the twilight, stands the seven-tined stag,
Its outline sharp against the close of day,
Noble in its form, its nostrils flared.
Erin's legends warn that its changeling shape,
Deludes, seducing humanfolk away.
Stand firm in faith, lest fooled by artifice
That's filled with empty promise of delight.
Avoid this apparition, for it's fey!
Good huntsman, seal your eyes and ears tonight.
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Acrostic Poetry Contest
Contest Winner
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Author Notes
Amergin, Bard of the Milesians, lays claim to the Land of Ireland, in the Song of Amergin, translated here by Robert Graves.
I am a stag: of seven tines,
I am a flood: across a plain,
I am a wind: on a deep lake,
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk: above the cliff,
I am a thorn: beneath the nail,
I am a wonder: among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
Sets the cool head aflame with smoke?
I am a spear: that roars for blood,
I am a salmon: in a pool,
I am a lure: from paradise,
I am a hill: where poets walk,
I am a boar: ruthless and red,
I am a breaker: threatening doom,
I am a tide: that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
Peeps from the unhewn dolmen, arch?
I am the womb: of every holt,
I am the blaze: on every hill,
I am the queen: of every hive,
I am the shield: for every head,
I am the tomb: of every hope.
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