secure this beckoning sunshine

The mountain kills its poets, and the mountain maddens bards:
the chair of the giant who slumbers here—it furiously guards
whatever secrets gifted once to those with fae regards.
Turn away, O would-be poet! Turn away, O hopeful bard!
You’re worth more living than inspired, more than Annwn’s discards.

( Her name was Tesni, bright, warm, strong. Listener, take heed: )



The Mountain's Call by Alex Conall is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.



crossposted to sunbowpublications.com