There is a cottage by a disused well,
And in it lives a strange and haggard crone,
Knock on her door and she will give a tell
Of future moments yet to you unknown.
No crystal ***** or scattered runic tiles,
No divinations of the palm or flame,
Her forecasts lie in bodies she defiles,
The practice of the necromancer's game.

I saw her standing by my bed,
She woke me from my fitful sleep,
I felt her stroke my fevered head,
A touch that made my chilled flesh creep.

My confused brain could not discern
Her nature by the candle glow,
Which gave her form an eerie turn
Of flickering gold from head to toe.

A smell like mould and musty books
Hung heavy on the night-time air,
As two red eyes cast soulless looks
That caught me in their sinister stare.

Her face was gnarled and lined with age,
Her mouth an open gaping maw,
A twisted terror wrapped in rage
The likes of which I never saw.

She forced one hand onto my lips
To quell the murmurs of a shout,
Then with her others fingertips
Reached down and pinched my candle out.

Through the window of my bedroom
I see a girl without a smile
It's lost in the tears that trail her cheeks
And within troubles that, inside, rile

Surrounded by four white-washed walls
Enclosed within her silence
She glances back as I sit and stare
With a look that yearns for guidance

Her eyebrows furrow in worry and pain
As if piecing together a puzzle
And as I raise my hand to the cold glass

**So does she.

Inside the Rainbow Forest
Where unicorns are born,
And fairy dust floats on the air
From sundown until dawn,
There dwells in royal splendour
Yet very rarely seen,
The king of all the pixies
With his pretty pixie queen.

His palace is a mushroom
As tall as any tree,
With bright red spots upon it
That will make you squeal with glee.
A winding golden staircase
Stretches to the very top,
In a mesmerizing spiral
That you think will never stop.

All those brave enough to climb it
Would soon chance upon a door,
With the most enormous knocker
That you really ever saw.
One hard tap summons the butler,
A polite and friendly gnome,
Serving tea and fondant fancies
That will make you feel at home.

Through a maze of vaulted chambers
Each more lavish than the last,
Passing walls lined with the portraits
Of kings from the distant past,
That dear gnome shall gently guide you,
With much merriment and song,
To the Great Hall of his master
Who resides there all day long.

From beneath a silver archway
Set with precious gems galore,
You will enter to the fanfare
Of ten trumpets, maybe more.
Dainty apple blossom petals
Shall be scattered at your feet,
As you bow your head in homage
To the king you are to meet.

With a heart bursting with wonder
You will hastily be brought,
To the throne of his most highness
Far across the royal court,
Threading through the marble towers
Of an ornate colonnade,
And a troupe of prancing dragons
With their riders on parade.

Seated high upon a pumpkin
In a matching orange gown,
Curly shoes of bright green velvet
And an elderflower crown,
The king shall bid you welcome
With a beaming toothy grin,
As he beckons to the minstrel
For the music to begin.

With his beard like cotton candy
Waving wildly in the air,
As he slides down to embrace you
From atop his lofty chair,
Both your arms shall link together
To the fiddler's merry tune,
Clicking heels and laughing loudly
As you skip around the room.

In the magic of the moment
You will give yourself to fun,
As the mischief making monarch
Tweaks your ears and cracks a pun,
All those cares your heart now carries
Shall dissolve and simply be
Lost in wondrous celebration
Of a pixie jamboree!

The twilight of the day draws near,
The blazing sun is laid to rest,
And dimming skies let stars appear
That twinkle in the bloodstained west.

The once warm air turns cold and still,
Long drawn out shadows gently fade,
While birdsong that before was shrill
Falls silent in a soft cascade.

The rooftops change from red to black,
So too the rising spiralled wisps
Of smoke churned up from chimney stacks
And stoves of wood burnt cinder crisp.

And everywhere nights velvet brush
Begins to daub the landscape whole,
Descending with a quiet hush
That calms the nerves and soothes the soul.

Until the end when all too soon
The final vestiges of day
Are bade farewell by the new moon
Who cannot help but smile away.