Do not come too close, my child, to the water’s edge,
Come back my little one to the safety of our hedge.
Do not suffer the undertow of her fatal grasp,
The harsh sea-mother and her tumescent clasp;
For she is deadly to all flesh, her waves clashing;
her hidden life of ill-will bends below this dark flood.
She will not let go of you, my child, nor let your sweet life
Remain, her hand clutches your cold embrace, her scythe
Wracks you to a place below this dark earth,
Where old ones moans in agony of sun and moon.
Even now her voice breaks sharply splashing
on these shores of doom, her slaked green waters wail:
Come back, come back my little one from the dark and lonely foam,
Seek not the wisdom of the moaning world, the sea-infested mother down below!
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.
So powerful and evocative. Just excellent.
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ty…. yea, the old ballad forms are so full of the magic of ritual and invocation, of the sea’s rhythms, the old and new myths…
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