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The poems on this blog are mostly written on the basis of my historical reading and are intended to be both educational and entertaining.
Recently I have also begun posting some of my work with Anglo-Saxon charms. This work is somewhat speculative and is conducted as an amateur researcher and keen Pagan historian.

Please feel free to use anything on this site as a resource if you think that it may be relevant to your needs.

Tuesday, 22 August 2017

The Fairy Ring


On 31st July I met a friend and we went to Saint James Park to have a picnic, choosing to sit within a perfect fairy circle, of about nine feet diameter, containing 'Fairy Ring Champignon' Shortly later three ravens came all as in the poem. The sweet was a kind of joke sweet called 'Black Death' and was as described.

The Fairy Ring
Once upon a moon day brightly, while we approach, good and rightly,
With sun shine on the noon timely, going downward upon one knee,
While I pondered of morrows fest, of the Lammas day of harvest,
Of the fresh loaf warm and sun blessed, came a troupe of ravens three,
Standing still by fairy circle dressed in black all ravens three,
Around cautious me and she.

As we sat inside the grass ring, I could see the corvids dark wing,
And each raven their shadow bring, upon the ground close by to see,
Sat we witches with our long hair, looking, glancing, longing to stare,
At those dark ravens who did dare, dare guard the circle by the tree,
In soft sunshine the small mushrooms sitting there beneath the tree,
In a circle there for thee.

Breaking baked bread ravens musing, then two ponder their leave choosing,
One rare raven circle cruising, walking widdershins like John Dee,
Now the circle he is tracing, softly slowly he is pacing,
On the worn fairy ring tracing, pacing circle true like Dee,
Time to taste the ball of Black Death like the scrying orb of Dee,
This is what she gaveth me.

All at once the taste grew stronger, I could bear it more no longer,
But endured I the flavour, it wilt soon passeth sayeth she.
Finally the dark taste ended, and then gently sweetness entered,
Then that raven he went flying, far beyond the tall plane tree,
Leaving us alone together, pondering beneath that tree,
What wilt she next giveth me?

Copyright Andrew Rea Lammas 2017

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