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Internet Book of Shadows, (Various Authors), [1999], at sacred-texts.com
THE MOONPOOL
-
It is a lazy, restful time
here in the forest glade.
The sun is departing, the stars arriving
and the trees are a darkening jade.
-
An air of buzzing, drowsing stillness
invades the meadow, lends weight to my head
as I settle down - bedroll, backpack
and strains of music are seemingly played.
-
A deep, cool, dark pool is here,
mirror clear, reflections of skies,
as peace fills my mind, my soul
and sleep gently touches my eyes.
-
I know not whether I was awake, or in dream
or how much time had passed,
when I felt the magic of this place
camped there, upon the grass.
-
No sounds - no crickets? (The Music!)
As the Moon awakens the pool, so bright.
Why this anticipation, premonition,
this magical feeling, this ghost haunted night?
-
Then, a siamese cat enters the meadow-
silver grey, regal compusure, flowing lines.
And somehow I know - I see intelligence
and wit, and power, as she looks into my eyes.
-
How does she speak without speaking?
But somehow, she communicates good will, and cheer.
'Stay quiet, childe of man.', she says.
'Be still - you are but a guest here.'
Then a parade of feline musicians
wandered in singing from the right.
I shake my head *bedazzled*; Am I dreaming, or mad?
Why me - here to witness this eldritch sight?
THE MOONPOOL (cont.)
-
A troupe of dancing, cavorting gnomes
made their appearence upon a rocky stage.
And following them : silver clad, haughty elves
accompanied by a wizened old mage.
-
Now, many strange but noble presences made manifest
on that starlit night in June.
And I witnessed and heard sweet music, high magic, secrets
until dawn, with the passing of the Moon.
-
And the high bred Queen of Cat Folk
smiled with warmth, and left.
Left me shaking with these visions,
and nodding, I finally slept.
-
I return often to these stately woods, seeking
but never finding the sacred pool, so bright.
It makes me sad - very sad to think
that it was but a dream, a peculiar night.
-
But sometimes, at the edge of sleep,
soft music slowly beckons, and calls.
And I know with every fiber of my being
that I will again visit these magical sylvan halls
1863