On salt bleached sands in Druidstone Bay
by the ice cliff waterfall
he found a lock of golden hair
shimmer soft, lustrous fair,
and a mirror lying there
where crying sea gulls call,
sky blown in Druidstone bay.
He looked in the mirror that bright day,
coral-carved it’s told,
and saw a maiden of the sea,
so wondrous fair of face was she
he fell in love with her did he
where spray-whipped winds blow cold
On the rocks in Druidstone Bay.
He searched for her where salt waves play
down by the tide torn shore.
He thought he heard faint singing
and distant sea bells ringing
as he wandered, sand blown stinging
in the wind from Keeston moor
sweep swirling round the bay.
As dusk seeped through the dying day
red gilded by the sun,
the darkling air turned silver white
under the full moon’s silent light
and a lunar path led wave furled bright
over the sea salt spun
from the sands in Druidstone Bay.
Ocean born in thundering spray
he saw her, mermaid fair
‘My mirror mortal man’ sang she,
and the stars shone bright as moonstruck, he
walked into the wave rocked foaming sea
spell bound by the singing air
of the wild wind in the bay.
There’s a mermaid down in Druidstone bay
so the story’s told.
He lost his heart in the sea that night
when the moon was at its height,
she took her mirror beneath its light
from that lovelorn young man so bold
and stole his heart away.
She left him there in the storm swept bay
but she gave him a wish did she,
that if he should after twenty years
on Druidstone beach shed salty tears
for love of the mirror maid with no fears,
she’d return for him from the sea
where the seals and dolphins play.
And so it was, on the longed for day
with twenty years passed by,
On a moonlit night, as the one before,
he searched along the tide torn shore
in the cold, wild wind from Keeston Moor,
and fearless tears he did cry
for the mermaid in the bay.
But she came not then to the sand bleached bay
for sea people measure their time
by the eternal fun of a dolphin ride,
and the ebb and flow of a moonshine tide,
they know not of clocks made by mortals with pride,
nor of church bells that call and chime.
His sea maid was far, far away.
He wandered alone in Druidstone Bay
and the years did come and go.
He kept her lock of golden hair
in a silver locket fair
next to his heart that once beat there
for a mermaid bathed in moon glow,
loved long since that fateful day.
Then one dusk eve on a midsummer day
years hence, as he walked the sand,
from the oceans wide she came for him there,
she brought him his heart that mermaid fair,
and the years faded soft in the spray mist air,
as they turned from the beach hand in hand
to the moon path that led from the bay.
Now if you wander on Midsummer day
and follow the wind dancing free
down to the bay where the great gulls fly,
where wild sea horses rear white to the sky
and the salt-washed pebbles rattle and sigh,
if you wait for the moon – you’ll see
the silver path bright from the bay.
And there you’ll hear on the wind, they say…
that blows from Keeston Moor
the enchanting songs of the mermaid fair
night light soft in the star spun air,
Druidstone echoes playing there
down on the sand-swirled shore
as the lovers laugh and play.
Published in The Dawntreader by Indigo Dreams Publishing
www.indigodreams.com
Curly Moon 