He said
There is no threat in elves
No sex no fire no danger
I say
He has not read the Tales
Ladies needle-pricked and Wishing
Loved almost to death in the
Space of a Bell
Only cold wits and songs of
Sleep to save them
Gentlemen left alone and pale
Withered and wanting
In the autumn sedge
My own great-greater-grand-someone
Come maybe home from hillside
Less her life and more another
Gave her baby the breath
She had no taste for after Him
I say
Who have loved them and
Lived to bear the weals of it
Red rents become gray memory
Still prey
to the lean clean arrogant
Lines of their mouths
That only look right curled
A very little at the edges
You only think they're smiling
Till you catch the eyes
Blood leaves brow for Downward
Tumbles dancing Somewhere Else
Breath catches on those eyes
If once wit follow heart
It never starts again.