The poem that led
The Groves
In Groves
By Aundrea Methvin
In a place that stays hidden
Lives a legend that dwells within the land.
A castle, strong and mighty, was built,
A beautiful lady with a heart of gold
Shape-shifted into a creature of old.
The castle was built upon her land
That was when the king was but a lad.
His handsomeness would only increase
As the Pixie placed a mighty spell:
That he would have to find the maiden
Who was in the form of the crone.
Until then, he would be on his own.
The boy grew as all boys do.
He learned his lessons
And cared for the animals.
He became the knight looking for his maiden of beauty bright.
That was when he saw her:
A kind older lady with eyes that shone like the stars at night.
She had always been near; sometimes she even lent him an ear
To listen to his voice, even when he complained.
To her young heart, it was heaven in this shape she endured.
He went back to his realm, to his castle hidden.
She looked at the sky and began to cry,
For the moon was full, and it was time to turn
From a woman of age to a maiden wild,
From Guardian, back to Nature’s Child.
That was when a scream turned to a low growl,
As the Pixie had cursed the witch.
For instead of being able to fulfill the spell,
The Crone was now trapped in her haven—
But not as the maiden in human form,
But as a were-panther,
Where nothing could change.
Yet the spell that was woven was not without a mistake.
For it was unforetold and unforeseen that the prince would see
The maiden as she changed from one form to another,
That their hearts had been woven within the same braid of rope.
The Pixie could cast all he wanted,
Yet true love saw beyond the mask.
The hunter got close enough to take aim,
Only to be shocked as the prince walked to the wild cat
As if it were no more a danger than a house cat.
The cat looked up with human eyes.
That was when the Pixie dropped the disguise,
As the witch stood up on her own feet.
The prince covered her with a traveling cloak.
Their hearts are still there in the castle, hidden.
The simplest sign still lingers as all pass through the valley:
The oak still protects a silver rose,
As the heather grows around the two in groves.
