Ghostly night, stormy night ... Star light surrounds the ancient tor
A hooded rider crosses the marsh
The lake water’s shrouded in mist ...
Villagers lost in sleep ... unaware ...
As visitors walk the night.
Silvery light surrounds the ancient tor
A presence on the air ... magic abroad in the night
The rider racing the wind; a spectre of a supernatural force
A traveller of the land ... identity unknown.
Weaver of the spell which now circles the Tor.
Doorway to the underworld swung open wide
On his uttered magical word
Beings of no earthly substance now wander the marsh
The Lands of Avalon beside the lake
The faerie folk have returned.
Come the dawn ... and the god fearing folk of the village ... wake
Of the rider there is no trace
Simple are the folk ... their dreams spoken in whispers
Their wise man ... their elder ... unable to comprehend the signs
For truly the other world has come to claim back its land
For beneath their lake shore village a fabled legend resides
A place of power built by an ancient race
The hollow hill the entry to that world ... some say
A maze of labyrinthian corridors lead endlessly downwards
To where the walls are seen to have been crafted by hand ....
The elder dismissing the dreams then ... until ...
The night and the witnesses who see the silver lights
Which bobble and dance around the hill ... the magical hill
Until ... several of their children disappear ... never to be seen again
Only then is the oral tradition of Avalon comprehended
And fear is abroad in the land once more ...
Written by Matthew James Monday, 27 December 2004