In Fancy Flee to Faery Lands

[Erthona]

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Let me repose, an ass in the embrace of Titania,
and be doted upon in royal fashion by Buttercup,
Thyme, Rosemary, and Jimsonweed; attend to me
so that I with the Queen, and from her hand sup,
may join the procession of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Then I will bray and walk the road of the silver moon,
for I am weary of this mundane life of decimals and dots,
and would gladly cross the bridge to Brigadoon.
Do you not in your secret heart desire these things,
even while in your haughtiness you laugh at me,
making accusations of a muddled and unhinged mind,
still coveting all the while, these wild imaginings?

Is this not the import, assigned to fancies of the mind;
to transport the world weary on to Avalon,
over to those worlds of grace that we do seek
when weary from our worries we would be gone?
Do we not in fancy flee to faery lands,
through the imagination of an other's hand,
to magical Persian castles ‘cross golden sand,
escaping tasteless lives, long gone bland?
Do you refute my claim that you are like the rest,
and had you one part of my imagining mind,
you’d not stay at home, eyelids and curtains drawn,
creating phantasms galore, and leaving the world behind?

–Erthona
©2011



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