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 and blood,
her hidden life of ill-will below this dark flood.
She will not let go of you, nor let your sweet life
Survive the clutches her cold embrace, her black scythe.
For she will take you to a place far below the world,
Where the old one moans in agony of sun and moon.
Even now her voice breaks upon these shores of doom,
Where ancient her tales slaked the sea-weed waters long ago:
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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