When the air warms under silver suns,
And the ancient lakes births misty ghosts,
Dancing faerie lights in wooded runs,
Tease the memories of spring-time hosts,
Crowned in past glories of battles won,
Feted beyond ephemerals coasts,
’til ragged time makes all things undone,
And legends fade to whispers at most,
Heard now only upon thin threads spun,
Fantasy, a storyteller’s oath.
Discarded Recollections 
I like the exploration of history and fantasy weaved together here.
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Why thank you. I like that boundary between forgotten history and mythology, and the complex histories of foggy islands is so romantic, terrible, and exciting to explore poetically.
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I completely agree, I hope to read more about it
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What a lovely poem about the fey. ❤👩🦰❤
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