A faery feast upon the image island
inside a hut of birch bark and barrels
a need for inviting and connecting
with olde friends of lore and yore
sometimes a lone soul of sadness
needs to come and chill cheerily out
folks of her own yolk of yesteryear
but she has to wait a while - where
fore she was down in the dump
and yet her daughter Gemma Sara
cheered her up by being cheesy
and breezy even though the former
fay needed more tender taking care of
because she had recently given birth
( the circle of love and life carried on)
The voelva Vigga took broad breaths
as she contemplated her two months
ahead of eerily lone erratic thoughts
of faery exploding fatal deeds doomed
to fail along with the rest until - until
she again could contemplate her hut
somewhere hidden from everyone
in her immediate environment everyday
and she would then and only then
breathe breezily and bother about herself.
Now it was all her family -
she miscounted again mayday had come
and gone and she did not dance around
the usual maypole's stiff rowdy membrance
she did not even care -sad how wondrous
lady - Vigga the Voelva had turned meek
and followed the rules of the rear party.
But she had hopes that once in her
little hut in the wild woods of yore
she would then regain strength and smile.
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