Spun from mine marvelous days that were ... Donna J. Fennel (Angel Avalon Mysts)
A MEDIEVAL MOTHER’S DAY® Original, honorary holiday poetry by Donna J. Fennel.
Quilled on this 11th day of May for Mother’s Day, 2004.
Revised especially for world mothers on May 12, 2006.
Now enterest this lair from mine days as a damsel fair ...
Allow thou now to transcend towards twinkle in time ~
Entering magical days that were merely a bygone ago.
Yea, ruled by Charlemagne, whence all was arcane ~
And the gentlest of sensuous streams doth flowed.
Hour when a distinguished damsel graced halls ~
Of crystalline castles in clouds upon yonder hill.
Where mine charm and grace doth set the pace ~
In mesmerizing memories, haunting history still.
’Twas a time whence lords and ladies gave grace ~
At marble bedecked, gilded griffin tables set for two.
While wizards cast spells in their glens and dells ~
Silhouetted by the morning mists of Avalon hue.
There were corsets, bustles and crinoline ‘round ~
Nestled 'mongst a forest of flowing, frivolous dresses.
’Twas an eloquence and elegance there to be found ~
’Neath mine adored attire and gleaming amber tresses.
Fantasy frocked ‘twas I, adorned in lovely, lavish lace ~
As mine head held history in a jeweled, bedecked bonnet.
Alas, my legend that was abandoned by humankind today ~
Now appeals to their souls, sounding much like a sonnet.
Ah, mine pulchritude of pleated hair and beads entwined ~
As I paraded in pearlized gowns whispering winter white.
While cradling mine noble child, close to a breast so kind ~
As I tucked him into royal goose-feathered bed at night.
And during an era when beauty abounds and surrounds ~
Amidst an ambience of harp, lute and scintillating sounds.
‘Twas my life upon this plot that tempest of time forgot ~
For I was mother, then, to a legend known as Lancelot.
Yet through the innocuous echelons and nebulous time ~
One common denominator somehow remains the same.
Within history’s halls love of mother, like no other ~
Her noble name shall in these ancient archives remain.
If one were to now visit these hallowed, historic halls ~
Echoing within chambers, the breath of God whispers:
“Be they ghosts of this palace place, with faces of grace ~
Decked in frills and lace, Medieval mothers and sisters.”
Yea, this heaven of Harmony reawakens memories in me ~
For here, my past lives are clear and appear in good focus.
‘Tis the true story from my primordial, pristine era of glory ~
Naught a bedtime story, making this lifetime merely bogus.
Lo and behold, this languished legacy now turns the tide ~
For my Highness since has been banished and vanished away.
Replaced by another mother’s pride, of today’s era in stride ~
Here now, to enlighten and brighten blessed Mother’s Day.
Haunted naught am I, for whence I remember this I cry ~
Tears of joy, for know I now what my true mission is here.
To heal spirits of those who hath lost touch with their souls
For my gift of healing is reaching out to those through prose.
Know me thy Fates ordained with this poetic prowess arcane ~
And this to thou I pray to all matriarchs a Happy Mother’s Day.
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