The sun was his face and in his hair,
Honey was on his lips,
And the words he told me were full of love,
As the tree was full of wild rose hips.
But he gave away his honeyed words,
As free as birds on the wing,
For any fair face or laughing eyes,
And there were many to hear him sing.
His face is still as handsome,
And his hair still nets up the sun,
But he found another beneath the waves,
And our loving days are done.
Jane Dougherty is a writer of fantasy, retellings of old stories, Norse and Irish, and poetry. She has had a number of poems and short stories published, and has self-published novels and stories. She lives in the south but her heart is in the north. Jane’s blog contains all you could possibly want to know about her: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/