I once knew a bard who told but one tale
The first price, cheap – just a mug of good ale
The second price, silence – for a year and a day
The third price, blindness ‘til he’d gone on his way
So there I sat, blind and enthralled
My bargain struck with the traveling bard
As he told me his story, but first did pray
After praying, he drank, then did speak of the fae
A story retold, but still his voice shook
As he recounted first crossing that magical brook
Lost in the forest, his eyes deceived him
Or thus he thought when he saw what he couldn’t believe in
Skin pale like fresh snow, with eyes that could melt you
She didn’t walk, but glided, as she approached me –
Death was apparent, the closer she came
But death was no price to but ask for her name
Long black hair fell like water upon her
With a streak of grey flowing over her shoulders
Her comforting hand rose up to my cheek;
Despite my efforts, I couldn’t speak…
Her voice wasn’t spoken, but conveyed through the mind
You’re not in your place, maneling, and not in your time.
“I’m but a traveling bard, I was just passing through –
Seeking myself, I but follow the moon…
I’ve journeyed long, grown old and tired
But alas, I know now, it was all worthwhile…
For your difficult journey, I’ll grant you a wish…
“Fair spirit, I desire but a name and a kiss.” I’m Arilla of the Fae. Her lips touched my lips. Heaven’s embrace was Arilla’s kiss.
For some span of time, all my pains were gone
I wasn’t old, but a youth, head spinning with song…
I wasn’t weary or woed, only content
And in a way, it’s been such ever since
She embraced me still, then looked down upon me –
Be warned, only thrice can you say what you saw here…
“I must tell the world of the maiden fair!”
But thrice, then you’ll die – heed and beware!
After her kiss, the bard again wandered
And only twice did speak that ever he saw her
Until I paid each price the old man sought
His tale, and his life, unwittingly bought.
It’s been a year and a day since I took that vow
The bard, but bones beneath the ground…
I can’t say how he died, for I couldn’t yet see
But since I buried the bard, I’ve been traveling…
A traveling bard, just passing through –
Seeking myself, I but follow the moon… I grow old and tired with each passing day… Ever in search of Arilla the Fae.
The Quiet Visionary 