Upon the Bog Throne Dreaming

Five forests deep, bereft of light,
Beyond the streaming fountain,
The Princess Tuvstarr met an elk,
Who led her to the mountain…

Her castle was now far away,
The pallid meadow distant,
The place of dreams she knew so well,
Forgot and non-existent,

The elk, a most majestic beast,
Was regal, strong and wise,
Crossing gullies with aplomb,
Below the heaving skies,

The Longleg Skutt they called the beast,
With muscles sure and strong,
Pumping up and down with ease,
Through craggy passes long,

In lightless glade a camp was made,
And fire for their keeping,
But under moonlight’s silken shade,
Came elvish devils creeping…

Her princess crown was on the ground,
And open to the breeze,
When silent feet made progress fleet,
The prized piece to seize,

The morning light rose up in white,
The clouds — a fleet of glowing boats,
Revealing then the ugly crime,
Before the watching mountain goats,

Oh Skutt my dear! I duly fear,
My princess crown has vanished,
And I would want, for this affront,
That every elf be banished!

Skutt lifted up his heavy head,
And sighed with mournful groaning,
Let us away into the day,
And set aside this moaning!

So on they went, with uncowed bent,
Into the wilderness of trees,
Advancing through the aspen tall,
Past flowers flooded through with bees,

A witch with lips as red as blood,
And filthy hair, as pitch as night,
Approached from in the forest depths,
And prompted girl and beast to fright…

The stately elk did bolt with fear,
Pray hold my horns, my dearest babe!
As now I run below the sun,
Through aspen tree and forest glade!

But flying quick on brown broom stick,
The witch did scream and follow,
Chasing down the leaping elk,
Into the mossy hollow,

What hast thee child, draped over thee,
So comely in the daylight?
That is my dress of purest white,
My treasure and my birthright!

The witch was fast, and flew right past,
Escaping with the garment,
Another act of thievery,
To add to Tuvstarr’s torment,

So weeping now, with furrowed brow,
And aching through with sorrow,
The princess mourned her heirloom lost,
All day and to the morrow,

I am a helpless, naked thing,
I’ve naught for consolation!
In this forest waste forlorn,
This den of desolation!

I think we’ll sojourn for a drink,
To ease your heartache, dearest,
We’ll tarry at the waterfalls,
The purest and the clearest,

And traipsing on, to yonder pass,
Through juniper and nettle,
The elk and maid resolve displayed—
Their gritty strength and mettle,

Then passing through a tree trunk door,
Progressing through the gateway,
They paced into a shaded place,
Beyond the curving archway,

And onwards to a hidden pool,
The stalwart pair did lumber,
Overhead, dark clouds of dread,
With softly rippling thunder,

Past the boat upon the moat,
And to the silent mirror pool,
The heaving elk did bring the child,
Through gentle rain and weather cool,

Beware of danger in the deep,
The movement of unseemly things,
Of shadow forms in cloaking slime,
Or pixies sent from fairy rings,

The princess sat down by the pool,
Her flowing hair descending long,
Her naked form, alone and slight,
And whispering a childhood song,

She sorrowed for her mother’s touch,
Her pillow breast, her voice of silk,
Her love — a halo ring of gold,
Her succour warm as buttermilk,

The slow ascent of doleful dreams,
And melancholy gaining ground,
Elicited her golden heart,
Which plunged below without a sound,

The haggard trees, the grinning moon,
The mad, bewitching ambience,
Had plucked away her golden core,
And muted her bright countenance,

And sitting still, in lifeless gloom,
Afore those waters gleaming,
The feeble Tuvstarr sits anon,
Upon the bog throne dreaming…

ADL, 14/06/25