The Call Of True North

Poem by Donna Faulkner née Miller

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Part I

Storming the horizon, 
Blackish clouds of chaos 
conjure foreboding. 
 
We stood upon the threshold- 
time and space between,  
when the void whispered its warning.  
 
Find true north, 
turn back to
the age of fable.  
 
Where the eagle dreams 
and rogue fairies 
indulge
 
in tea parties 
with toads 
that choose to remain 
 
kissed toads 
and have no desire
to be Princes.