Is a peek all we get of the Beginning...
Is that 'away-time' kept...beguiled
In the Hills Of Changlings...
I will foster that child...

The Neverling...in the Now of Prescience.
This peek of tarns, barrows, wights
That fought ancient gods into being,
Tantalizing feast for new children

Born ever as Changlings, all...
Be the sunrise that begets fostering of
Beauty, to see Elves in the Clearing...
Bright, shimmering Light flowing into

Souls of Poets...all.

elysabeth faslund

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poets-6/