Fable

You spoke of white chargers

And the sound sparkled

In your brown eyes

Toned disillusion

With a hint of wistfulness

Some pale mythical creature

Arose recognised from the romance

And a thousand dreams there pale beheld,

Glittering with elusive ambience.

Bitter breathed the wind

Of all that is

And sang a dreadful song

Reviling in the veiling mist,

Lifting it beyond feeling

Into a reality of vision

In which all clarity is lost,

And beauty sees only beauty

In its own reflection.

Allan J. Dixon