Along the rolling hills I hear your mournful singing haunting clear yet windblown.
Under the moon’s vapid eye how can I, elf, to you deny your windsongs?
I’ll keep you under lock and key lest you flee and escape from me as windstorm.
The elvish king shall have you back when he returns the one I lack now windbound.
On Hallow’s Eve we’ll make a swap my child returned, you with your harp, — home windward.
Grace at dVerse challenges us today to write a Compound Word Verse, an unfamiliar form to most ous I daresay. She writes: "The Compound Word Verse is a poetry form invented by Margaret R. Smith that consists of five 3-line stanzas, for a total of 15 lines. The last line of each stanza ends in a compound word and these compound words share a common stem word which is taken from the title. (In the first example below the stem word is “moon” from the title “Moonlighting”; the compound words related to the title are moondust, moonbeams, moonsongs, etc.)
The Compound Word Verse (3 lines) has a set rhyme scheme and meter as follows:
Rhyme Scheme: a,a,b
Syllable/Meter: 8, 8, 3
Click on Mr. Linky to read more and join in!
Strange the tale of an elven king’s son Who lured a maid into the land of the young. There she took tea, fated never to return To the land of the living where hopes reigned.
Once she escaped her besom buddies of elven-land But euphoria died when her long black locks turned white As haunting memories of the land of the young Made her yearn for the revelry of elven friends.
On the steps of a cathedral she stood skyward gazing Behind her from the woods the elven king’s son stood imploring But she had found a love beside which earthly magic paled A love eternal from her Maker that over all prevailed.
“I cannot go with you, sweet heir of elven halls Though surely will I miss you and all your kith and kin. I have chosen wisely with wisdom from above To live and die a daughter of the God who does me love.”
The elven lords and ladies left behind remained wondering Their days of wine, their nights of dance, youth forever blooming Thrown aside by a poor maid as if they all were nothing Impressed them not, sincere or not, and soon she was forgotten.
Crimson's Creative Challenge #154 prompt: Image credit Crispina Kemp
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