My Lady Tyranni
In the darkness, damp and dreary
In a magical forest forbidden,
Reclined a Lady, frail and weary.
Alone, but for the horse she'd ridden.
Pillow soft nightly arms beckoned,
With shadows wrapped in sorrow.
My pale Lady Tyranni reckoned,
She would not live to see the morrow.
She peered in vain through opaque night.
Searching for her love, Rafael.
He was to meet her at last light,
Her trembling desires to quell.
Against her cold back, stood an oak.
Its mighty branches spread in sympathy.
Throughout the forest, the tiny folk
Peeked round flower and stem with glee.
Flickering eyes and pointed teeth,
Caught the moonlight vivid.
Their bitty weapons they did unsheathe,
Their elfin hearts were livid.
Mortals weak they loved to spite.
To tease and hurt and confuse,
This was the wee folk's delight.
For faerie do not like their forest used.
My Lady's tears fell sleek as rain.
Her sobs were soft and delicate.
The mighty oak understood her pain,
And wrapped her in limb and leaflet.
The faerie folk were excessive cruel.
They flew about My Lady's face,
Tiny arrows pierced fine eyes of jewel,
And shred her beautiful dress of lace.
My Lady fought a valiant fight,
For a child of such pristine decorum.
She screamed and bit and clawed with might,
But alas! She was but a victim.
Her face was bloodied and bruised.
Her finery torn and soiled.
The faerie folk stood back, amused,
To see the mortal that they'd spoiled.
My Lady's spirit was not yet broken,
Within her breast dwelt great courage.
Aloud, fearless words were spoken,
But her enemy she could not discourage.
In desperate hope, without the slightest sound,
Tired arms wrapped around the oak,
Weary feet planted firmly in the ground.
One final wish, My Lady spoke.
"As darkness is my witness,
Vengeance shall be mine.
Forever will I stand in justice
As a common creeping vine."
Her human flesh began to change,
Her clothing slid silently out of sight.
Her form was gently, carefully rearranged,
On that horrible, foreshadowed night.
With tendrils green and leaves strong,
My Lady's heart never forgives.
And the faerie folk dare do no wrong,
Where the creeping vine lives.
If you should chance to walk someday,
In the magical woods so fine,
Keep your feet upon the pathway,
And give my love to the common, creeping vine.
Margaret Williams resides in a small but charming town in Tennessee with her son and family pets. She enjoys traveling the beautiful country roads and finding inspiration for her poetry and other writings. Margaret has published numerous short stories and is an award winning poet. She is currently working on her first novel, a historical western and a book of
collected poems titled, "Anatomy of A Middle-Aged Woman."
Margaret loves to hear from her readers.
She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org
Read When the Soul Surrenders - a fantasy story by Margaret.
"My Lady Tyranni" Copyright © 2001 Margaret Williams. All rights reserved.
Reprinted by permission of the author.
This page last updated 01-20-02.