The Dark of Midsummer

The Bard from ether wove the faerie court But inert archetypes they would remain. So to all earthly delights he did resort And stitched all mortal rapture to their frames. Yet longest nights would plague midsummer for Disputes of Titania and Oberon, Could raise contagious fog and gales that tore At trees and stifled souls they came upon. How soon the breath of man corrupts ideas With petty squabbles and our jealousies. So pale in our anger and bound by fear. You would think the gift of life a disease. How many shaking hands have warned, Our race is nought but gutter spawn? Yet that same Bard could scratch the quill to please And brought us Mab a maiden without peer. Drawn by a team of little atomies At night delivering dreams to our ears. Such guides we craft to spur us on, To go explore Lord Shaper's moonlight shore, Find purpose, reach beyond the grasp of dawn, to name and mould a brave future. The breath of man can set the heart aflame With faith and valour, inspire and exhort To beauty, glory, sun and earth proclaim. Only fools would sell the gift of life short. If to warmth and love we are sworn, There is still hope for the unborn.