The Fairies of Kinver Hill

I went for a walk in Kinver in Staffordshire over the weekend. I took the photograph here with my mobile phone, and noticed how the honeysuckle blossoms appeared to resemble fairies dancing in a ring.

As I walked through the hills I wrote the poem below about the summer and the forests.





The Fairies of Kinver Hill.



(1)

Low lay a sacred and gilding light,
Upon the Kinver hills that rose aglimmer,
A sheen of glorious summer heat,
That constant shifts and shimmers,
We walked in silence amidst the wonder,
As from far away came rumbles of thunder,
Then in a shaded glade we glimpsed Frey,
Singing softly as he made his way,
Through a haze as pale as dog rose petal,
Now wilted white upon withered hips,
So hit the iron hammers of the heat,
As hard upon the hour as upon an anvil,
For in the temple of effulgent June,
The sun strains hard upon its leash,
As the growling of a distant storm,
Can be heard slouching in the East.



(2)

The drifting scent of honeysuckle blossom,
Sweetens the slow meandering breeze,
That laps the rustling laughing fronds,
Of mighty humbled conifers that weep,
Tears of joy that fall as cones to earth,
Which furtive squirrels then swiftly reap,
As the fragile vines so tight entwine,
The shy kind of Albion now come alive,
Upon the woodbine between its stems ,
Where sweet nectar gathers within,
Their blooms a myriad magic elfin rings,
Where pale fairies in circles dance and sing,
As foxgloves shiver in the wisping wind,
Their purple petals chime, pealing bells,
Ringing out across the verdant vales,
Where Englands spirit still prevails.



(3)

The hollow hills upon which we step,
So ancient legends tell, forever hide,
The hallowed halls of Herne inside,
As rippling rocks of red, ebb and flow,
Torrents gushing forth from dusty loam,
Crash in waves of weathered stone,
Between bracken torrents florid green,
Where sun dappled islands rise and fall,
Amidst the sighing sloughing streams,
In the sanctum of Vidar's wooded glade,
Where winters cloak of snow once laid,
The commands of a high sun king now here,
Whose glory crowns the wheel of year,
Transforming the flowering forest shade,
Into Freya's mystical wedding train,
And summers blessed bridal gown.