Of the gods, we know not much of their ways,
their wishes or faces, hidden from our gaze.
Hardly do they reveal to mortal men,
for our eyes must be set on the one who reigns then.
They serve faithfully, the one who rules all,
and we, once passed, shall be messengers at his call.
In times of great need, they may appear,
to give us hope, Ieaba’s voice we hear,
rallying hearts to deeds of valor bright,
bringing wisdom to rulers, guiding their sight.
Such a time was this, when the Lady of Roses came,
Queen Rhiannon, of life and everlasting fame,
her reign the longest in a thousand years,
may she rest in peace, in Varis’ halls, revered.
Illness struck as news of threat did grow,
a sorceress in the South, evil to bestow,
awoken the beast, Lanok, prince of gods feared,
the royal line’s spawn, his presence neared.
The Queen’s illness grew, then subsided slow,
but fear spread, crops failed, weather turned woe.
Signs of coming evil, dark and dread,
befell us all, as terror spread.
The Queen’s son, a warrior esteemed,
returned from the East, where his name gleamed.
Fame and fortune he had won, young
though he was, and minstrels hung
on his every tale of adventure and pride.
Now he rode through the woods and saw his bride
in a clearing of roses, bright as day,
her clothes of red hue as the dresses in May,
singing to her creator in language foreign
her voice lilting as she sang: “Awren! Awren!
Awren Ieaba!” And Cedwyn listened
and climbed down from his horse, his ears christened
with the language of the saints and he wept
at her beauty, for unearthly it was and soon he slept
falling from his horse, lying in the field
as he fell entranced, his love to yield.
When he awoke, blue stars like fireflies danced,
outside his window, in a dreamlike trance,
the clearing long gone, though a single rose lying
its red petals unwithered, beauty undying
and he knew that the Lady of Roses was not
a dream, and for all his life, he never forgot
her beauty or grace, and his face shone bright
with joy and light of the gods, and clear was his sight.
Rumors spread of what was seen that day, causing
the fair prince to be found in a clearing, work pausing.
Speculation flew on wings swifter than a hawk,
spotting a lone mouse running free, a silent stalk.
Diving upon its meal, slicing through air like a knife,
like a thunderbolt of judgement to take a sinner’s life.
And Cedwyn wondered in a daze, unable to think
of anyone but Myfanwy, and he began to sink
further and further into that illness called love
that brings us all to our knees as we fall of
dreams fulfilled or hearts shattered like mirrors broken
in the silence of the night, their love unspoken.
Like a ghost he was and returned to where he first
met her, ran through the clearing, called her name until thirst
raked his throat, heat cracked his skin, longing pulled his heart.
Yet nowhere was Myfanwy, though love struck him like a dart.
Kaira, princess of this hidden kingdom, dearest
sister one could want cried for him in sincerest
wish for his pain to leave him, for that woman who had
so bewitched his heart to come forth that he may be glad
once more. Thus, she went to Annmanli’s house, where she prayed
piously for her brother to live once more, and a hand bade
her stand and before her stood a priestess of
immeasurable beauty, cloaked in wimple and glove
of white, heavily embroidered in thread red
as blood in the shape of roses and her head
was veiled with lace of the same hue. “Art thou
the one who hast entranced my brother? For how
canst a humble priestess as thee wear such
fine raiment not of homespun, unless thy touch
with needle and thread be unbridled and free,
crafting dreams in fabric, a tapestry of glee?”
And swiftly as she came, the Lady of Roses
departed in silence, as the night reposes,
and a voice came to Kaira, filled the silence, and said
“Child, thy wish is granted, for we shall be wed.”
Until next time,
M.J.
The Tanuki Corner 
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