Her hair falls like waves across her shoulders,

The long, dark ringlets like a raven’s wing.

She makes all mortal hearts to smolder;

It is of her that our minstrels sing.

Tall she is, and fair, like the morning.

Slender is her waist wrapped in a belt of gold.

All ye mortals heed my warning:

Look not upon the maiden strong and bold,

Or your heart will forever be taken

By the Faerie Queen of old.

Her tale has oft been told.

Her eyes are clear and watery blue.

Her dress is of the same color, too.

Let them not gaze long at you.

Or you will be lost forever.

She moves with a lovely grace,

Bringing light to the darkest place.

Soon, as in my sad case,

You will be lost forever.

Mortal she is surely not,

Often I have sought

To be free, as you ought.

But lost I am forever.

Bronwyn McKee

Age 15, Grade 9

Homeschooled

Northern Lehigh District