I don't really write or read poems a lot tbh, but I decided I wanted to write one about the mythology of the Fae in a fantasy/DND setting that I've been working on. I imagine it would be an in universe fairy tale that some characters would know, especially ones who grew up in the countryside.
Once upon a time, there was a lonely cabin in the woods by a town,
Where at the end of his day, the woodsman would go down.
If the cloth above the door was gleaming gold,
He would go inside to a sight untold.
He would hand the woman who lived there wood for her fire,
And in return, he was allowed the food at her table, and to lie in her bed should he tire
But if that banner was orange or green,
He was never to be spotted.
For though with her he was besotted,
She had told him that they could not meet underneath that rusted banner,
For then he could not trust her manner.
The woodsman cried, and he protested,
But her will on this was not to be tested.
So, on those days, he went home, but hardly rested.
Yet on one such night, his heart screamed out,
And after dark to her home he quested.
He knocked thrice, as he had been instructed, and saw his love past the door.
He apologised, but his claim she seemed to ignore,
In fact, she claimed no memory of ever speaking such words at all.
Mollified, the woodsman sat,
Yet his dinner was no true meal, of that he was sure.
It was filled with worms, a rat, and a nursing shawl.
She scowled at him, and demanded he eat,
But still he rose up shouting from his seat.
She froze him with a look, not even a single call,
And said that if he loved her, he would take at least a bite.
He paused at her fury, and obeyed,
A choice he would not regret for so much as a day.
For the moment it had passed his lips, he fell to the floor with a twitch.
It was then, when he could not move upon the ground,
That his lover sat upon his chest with all the weight of a flower,
And her own meal did she devour.
The next day, a fisherwoman saw a house by the wood.
Above its door, a banner the colour of dandelions stood.
And when she knocked upon that door,
A lovely lady did she stand before.
A wonderous night together did they spend,
And yet the lady told her something grave before its end.
Only come back to me if the banner above my door is gold, she said.
The fisherwoman asked her why, but the lady merely shook her head.
If the cloth is orange or green,
Not a hint of you, my love, is to be seen.
For although a most gracious host I now seem,
I fear that may be but as fragile as a dream.
For you cannot trust my manner,
When underneath a rusted banner.
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