Not long ago, in the forest of fae,
an elf maiden I chanced upon, did enchant me that day.
She was sitting in the shade of a mighty oak tree,
and with a wave of her hand, she beckoned to me.

"Elf Lord," she whispered in a very soft way,
"Why have you stared at me for half of the day?"
Because of thy beauty, thy charm, and thy grace."
And I knew from her smile there was a blush on my face.

For weeks I would visit her under that tree
and finally I realized that love had found me.
I met with her again as time came to pass
and summoned the courage to propose to the lass.

"My lady," I asked, "will you complete my life,
will you accept this gold ring and become my wife."
She watched me a moment, and said not a word,
then smiled most sweetly, a faint whisper I heard.

"My lord," she whispered, "I would gladly accept it from thee
but first must I propose a love Quest for thee."
I listened to her whispers, felt fire in my chest,
and I gazed into her eyes, quite up to her test.

"Tell me this challenge that I might begin this very night.
Must I win you a crown? Is there a Dragon to fight?"
"The quest is quite simple, my husband to be,
you merely must write a love poem for me."

"A poem." I responded, "is a simple enough quest."
and that very night I put my verse to the test.
I tried, "How do I love thee...?" and "Roses are red..."
and many other such verses that came to my head.

One week had gone past, then two, and then three
but still the love poem eluded me.
The very next day, I went to her tree,
quite saddened by the failure of the test given me.

I saw her sitting there, love flowing through my heart
I saw her and finally, the poem came with a start.
I held up a mirror for her to see her own face,
and told her the poem was her beauty and grace.

"No flowery words can describe how I feel for thee,
let my poem be my love and my life shared with thee."
A smile lit her face and my soul began to sing,
for she took my hand and accepted my ring.

We were wed that day, under that very tree,
and the joy and love for her, even now fills me.
The moral of this story, as all good stories demand
"Poetry should come from the heart, not from the hand".

© 1992 By Dave Anhorn
Poetry