A would-be Irish sonnet, with a twist... no one dies and no ghosts, well maybe one.

Down where the hillside, rollin’ green
Meets the murky river’s shore,
I step aboard a banked wood skiff
Makin’ ready both her oars.

Into the current swift and deep
My paddles ripple waters still.
I drift into the morning mist;
And nature’s ways revealed.

I hear the music of the morning,
The song of birds, the buzz of bees.
I float within a pastel painting,
One of rivers, flowers, trees.

I sense the parting of a curtain,
Leaving one world far behind.
A thick gray fog leaves me uncertain,
And for a moment I am blind

But then the veil is neatly lifted,
A shaft of sunlight piercing through.
To touch the soul of one downhearted,
Like Spring, itself, I feel renewed!

I see her standing by the meadow,
There, half hidden in the trees.
Face aglow in forest magic,
Emerald eyes gaze down at me.

Her peasant dress is softly blowin’.
A flowered garland in her hair.
Her smile is like the sun of summer.
Freckled skin, so soft and fair…

Oh, what secrets will she teach me?
She lays her shawl upon the grass.
If ever there were signs of Heaven
I have found them here at last!

An ancient spell is cast upon me,
Conjured visions to impart.
This must be the mystic kingdom
Where the fairies stole my heart!


I’ve come longing for her kisses
I am revived by her embrace…
Alas, Time, my jealous mistress
Insists I must awake!

Michael True
3/30/04 (last edit 6-24-13)