Anything for Etain
"Why do you not seem your years,
"My grey eyed Mider?"
"Why must you?"
The fair headed king rolled to the side,
Fiddling his soft hands in the soft grass,
Hands older than the first of mortals,
Hands that had built all new worlds,
Hands that had to bury old,
so old.
Moments passed, and seasons changed.
Fiery haired Etain again felt spring's blood,
It ran and dodged like a swift zephyr
Playing atop the cool stream beside them.
Her long fingers mingled with her faery lord's.
Mider pulled at the ocean-blue flowers,
And gathered them with a pure lily.
He handed them to his smiling faery queen.
Then heaved an ageless sigh
And loosed a tear.
-Neill Torna
