Rosamunda and The Wayward Light – Fantasy – November 23, 2015



hill side villa

Through the foggy mist … a light filtered from a certain cavern near mountain pass.  The cave was not far from a cliff.  If one was not careful one might fall into the murky abyss being lost forever, even if perhaps not dead.  And nearby there was a village, which few had ever seen.

Many had travelled from far and wide to unravel the secret hidden with-in the cave.  Some said the light was holy, other’s demonic.  There were those who were sure that is was just a natural phenomenon – like the ebb and flow of the tides … but is that really natural or isn’t it a sort of magic. However, the point is, though many had gone forth to unravel the mystery, none had returned with the solution, and eventually it fell out of the memory of humanity.

Our heroine, who didn’t know as yet that she was to be a heroine, had been gathering berries in the woods when the fog suddenly came up.  This wasn’t new to her as she had found herself in the fog innumerous times before…

But now, let me tell you something about her before we go on with our tale.  The village was in a far northern land ruled in peace by women.  The whole country had once been ruled by women until a dark force had come up, invading the land from the south.  Now many of the towns and villages and most of all the capitol had become the dominion of men and their dark passions.

Granny was the village wise woman and she, Rosamunda her apprentice. She’d been chosen the day she was born, because she had a tiny red birthmark on her bum – usually these birthmarks are strawberry shaped but hers was different, it was shaped like a star.

The mid-wife when she saw the star sent word immediately to Granny, who ran to the cottage where Goody Morghan lived and had given birth to the babe.

“Let me see! Are you sure it’s the star?” whispered avidly Granny.  She’d been waiting a very long time for this sign and had begun to doubt she’d live to see the day of this special child’s birth.

“Aye, Granny … and you did well to come right away, it’s already beginning to fade already.”

Granny took the baby in her arms and then flipped her to see the birthmark.  The midwife was right of course … the star was fading, which was also a sign, in these dark times, the Great Mother protected her chosen ones.  She gently gave the child back to her mother, who began to nurse her.

“Her name will be Rosamunda and she will come to live with me when she is weaned.” said Granny.

Goody Morghan smiled down at her daughter who seemed to be in ecstasy.

“Rosamunda it is dearest Granny! Of course you will come often to see how she fares?”

“If it doesn’t cause problems, yes.”

And so it was that Rosamunda grew and thrived, and when she was three years old she left her mother’s house to live and learn with Granny, whom she considered to be her own grandmother. She was quick to learn the names of all the beasts of the woods and their languages, all the names of herbs and their properties and best of all the song that tames the dark passions that live inside men.

Now, many years later, Rosamunda walked through the woods in a fog that had suddenly come up without warning.  It was her birthday and she’d been gathering berries for her feast meal which she and granny and her mother had been preparing for days.  This birthday was a special birthday.  She would be eighteenth and therefore a woman in every respects.  Her own true love would be found and she would have a home of her own … and perhaps a daughter one day to carry on her line.

She saw the light filter through the woods and stopped surprised.  Of course she knew where she was but had never seen the mysterious light of which the men talked as they sat around the fires in the summer evenings. She’d just thought they were fireside tales or men’s tales, she’d never thought to one day see that light herself.  She also knew that this was a particularly dangerous part of the woods when the fog was up.

A blackbird began to sing: “Rosamunda, fair and brave, wise woman of the red star, gather together these juniper berries from my tree and put one in your mouth and the rest of them put in your pouch.  Thus you will be safe from the noxious odours of the wayward light.”

And so, Rosamunda gathered the berries and put one in her mouth and the others in her pouch and walked onward.

A roe came walking calmly towards her and said: “Rosamunda, dearest of friends to the woods and beasts, cut a staff from this old oak under which we stand.  It will protect you from the illusions of the wayward light.”

And so, Rosamunda cut a branch from the old oak tree and fashioned for herself a staff and walked onward.

A large brindled cat jumped from a large stone beside the trail and said: “Rosamunda sweetest of maids, I am Brynhildr, your familiar and ally.  We will walk together and face the darkness of the wayward light.”

They followed the light up to the cavern where it flickered invitingly.

“Dearest Brynhildr, how can this be darkness? Look how warmly it glows!”

“This is an enchantment brought from the south.  It seems fair but indeed it brings only death and heartache.  It was a light like this that toppled the last Good Queen from her throne and threw our beloved land into the passionate love of war.”

Then they became aware that just before the mouth of the cave a young man was lying near death.  Rosamunda found him very handsome in his green cambric shirt and tights and felt the warmth of love run through her.  A bow abandoned by his side meant that he must be a hunter.  His eyes stared into nothingness.

“Oh, Brynhildr, what is wrong with him?”

The cat went over to him and smelled him, butted him with her paw, then turned to Rosamunda and said: “He has been poisoned by the odour of the wayward light.  Only one thing can save him … juniper berries.”

So, Rosamunda grabbed two berries from her pouch and crushing them put them into his mouth.

With a gasp, he sat up and his eyes focused on Rosamunda and thus fell instantly in love with her.

“Oh, loveliest of maids … you’ve brought the forest into my soul once again when I thought I would no longer walk upon this earth.  My name is Adelhelm.  What is your name that I may thank you and ask you to be my own true love?”

Brynhildr meowed restlessly … and then said to Rosamunda, “There is no time for courting! Now is the time to end this evil in our woods! Have the man fashion a bow from this ash tree and you fashion three arrows.”

And so Adelhelm cut a branch from the ash tree and made a strong long bow  and with the strongest twigs Rosamunda fashioned three arrows.

“Now crush some of the juniper berries and rub their juice onto the arrow heads and along the shafts of the arrows.”

After Rosamunda had done this the cat said:  “Now, place two new berries in both of your mouths.  Do not talk nor answer any questions you may hear nor look directly at the wayward light for if you do you will be overcome by the darkness even though you walk with the staff!  Enter before the archer with your oaken staff before you, it will help shield you both.  Now tell him all that I’ve said and tell him to tend his bow ready to shoot whatever — no matter what it seems to be — that comes towards you with these arrows. Mind, anything at all!”

So after explaining everything to Adelhelm and placing the new berries into their mouths she rose her staff and began to walk into the cave.  Adelhelm followed, his bow tended.  A soft sweet voice asked who they were and they remained silent … then a roar like a lion shook the cave and demanded them to identify themselves but they ignored the request, though their hearts were now pounding with fear.

The light flared and began to come towards them.  Inside the light was the image of an old man in white robes carrying a platter of fruit.

“Come, my dear guests, let us feast this new day of prosperity!  I offer you wealth and fulfillment, only eat of my fruit of plenty.”

Adelhelm shot his first arrow into the vision which instantly disappeared with a rumble.

Then inside the light came the vision of a beautiful woman.   She too was dressed in faultless white and she held in her arms a golden pitcher filled to the brim.

“Today is the day of redemption … drink from my pitcher of wine which will give you hope. security and happiness. Just drink of my wine and noble truth will fill your souls!”

Adelhelm shot his second arrow into the vision after a moment of hesitation. This vision too dissolved into nothingness.

Then a third vision appeared.  Before them stood a mighty Warrior King dressed in golden armour, a great flaming sword in his hand and he began to loudly remonstrate them saying:

“Who are you to attack my envoys who have come offering prosperity and hope! Know now, that  I am the Truth and The Way … I am the Defender of all that’s holy and the Propagator of Wealth and Happiness … I am the Light and the Mighty Leader of all men!”

Adelhelm lowered his bow, enchanted by the powerful image.  Rosamunda stood with her oaken staff before her hesitating as she saw Adelhelm waver. Brynhildr realizing the peril her charge was in, she began loudly to caterwaul which shook the cavern to its roots, attracting the vision which raised its sword to strike the cat when suddenly Rosamunda began to sing the song that calms the passions of men.  Adelhelm in surprise shook himself then, lifted his bow and sent off his third arrow which planted itself into the great warriors heart saving Brynhildr and dissipating the vision of the Warrior King.

Before them bloomed the horrors of the vision of war, a mountain of skulls,  bloody bodies laying in row upon infinite row, motherless children being beheaded and women being raped, burning cities and towns and the marching of endless files of soldiers singing battle hymns, carrying numerous flags and robbing anything on which they could put their hands.  The howling was terrible and the stench of decay would have killed it was so terrible and a huge cloud of flies and crows filled the sky.

Then the vision disappeared and the smell too leaving a burnt out candle, no larger than a seed.

Brynhildr said to Rosamunda: “Now, crush the last of the juniper berries and pour them over the seed that it might never become fecundated in this land.”

Rosamunda, Adelhelm and Brynhildr returned to the village and told all to Granny, who wrote the tale into the book of knowledge.  A great feast was held for Rosamunda’s coming of age.  Soon afterwards Rosamunda and Adelhelm celebrated their allegiance.  Rosamunda one day became the wise woman of the village and had three lovely daughters, but without the sacred star upon them (that child would be born elsewhere and is another story)  and what of Brynhildr, well Brynhildr lived for many many more years advising her ally and had many kittens of her own – three of which attached themselves to Rosamunda’s daughters.

The village still exists, you may have passed nearby it, without knowing this because it is hidden from the world of darkness and war, awaiting a time when humanity will tire of the wayward light of war and will seek peace.

© G.s.k. ‘15



The Sunday Whirl

She was Mad but He was Magic – Collage Wordeling – August 30, 2015

Collage 5

She was Mad but He was Magic

Her heart sprouted
from a dung heap
not far from
where the hawker’s balloon
fell to earth
near Jebson’s farm
in a now dead and dry
corn field …

She’d pined
becoming a mole
setting forth into the world
only at full moon-rise
when the beams
dripped cold.

“Reach out
for the remedy of your ills -”
the hawker called out:
“brewed from the seeds
found only on the vines
of Cleverness!”

She took a sip of the brew
– watched the liquid flow from the bottle
little did she know
where its power came from
but she entered a new world
she found oblivion
in a new love.

The hawker’s mission accomplished,
invited her into his balloon
and they left that farming district
never to return …

People still talk about them saying:
“She was mad but he was magic!”

© G.s.k. ‘15

Written for:

The Sunday Whirligig – August 19 – THIS WEEK’S WORDS come from “The Man Born to Farming” by Wendell Berry: reach, farming, sprout, dung, enters, corn, comes, mole, rise, seed, flows, vine

and Writing Prompt #122 “Collage 5″

Minx – His early years – Fantasy – March 31,2015


Nellie Moore (photo 1860 circa)

Nellie Moore (photo 1860 circa)

Minx thinks he must have been born in the mid 1860s, he wasn’t the pick of the litter, in fact he was the runt but Nellie Moore, his human was very proud of him.  His mother was a tabby his father, one could only guess, Minx never got to meet him he told me as he showed me the photo of himself and Nellie Moore. Minx himself had all the particular markings of an Egyptian brindled cat.

Though the smallest of his mother’s large litter he grew into a sturdy frisky chap.  He loved to chase rats and he never stood down if there was some other who wished to invade his territory.  He met his human one afternoon as he was exploring what turned out to be Nellie’s garden.  She used to read to him by the hour and when she wrote her poems, he would lay across her desk.  He’s convinced that this is how he learnt to read and eventually to write.

“I knew she was mine the moment I saw her!” he sighed.

He remained a rather smallish cat for all the years of Nellie’s life and just as frisky as though he were still a kitten, though when Nellie passed away some 30 years or so later (he wasn’t very precise about dates I’m afraid to say) one would have thought he’d have slowed down a bit himself.

When she passed away, he began his globe-trotting, as he didn’t feel inclined to attach himself to Nellie’s children or grandchildren.  He never knew it, but Nellie’s youngest grand-son a toddler by the name of Michael searched for him for days and was disconsolate when he couldn’t be found … it was only years later that they would meet up again.

Minx rode the rails for a few years, visited New York and New Orleans and had a rather rowdy life never backing down from a fight and where the ladies were concerned, well let’s say he was the king of any quarter he happened to find himself.  At one point he even took passage as the ship’s cat on the Lusitania the year before it was sunk. He said he would have enjoyed Europe probably much more if there hadn’t been a war on. He complained to me bitterly about “certain persons who think that cat is an interesting nutritious addition to their diets”.

He began to grow.  He himself didn’t really realize how much.  One morning, it must have been in the mid 1920s, he woke up with terrible cramps in his legs and his back.  He was by now, back in the United States, in fact not far from Nellie Moore’s home.  He caterwauled his pain and cursed his sort, then realizing that he’d spoken human stopped in surprise.

Micheal, now a man in his thirties heard the terrible sound of someone or something in pain and ran to see what was the matter.  There, much to his shock and surprise, stood a cat.  Not on all fours like a normal cat, but it stood like a human and a tall one at that.  Micheal looked closely at the face of the cat.

“Minx?” he cried.

“Yes. And who are you if I may ask.” replied Minx in his meowing voice (which I’ve translated into straight human for my and your convenience).

Michael informed him and from that day forward, Michael was Minx’s butler, caretaker, valet and close friend.  Michael left his family home and they travelled far and wide, finally settling on the small piece of land where I’d encountered the strange ghost like house in the woods. Minx informed me it was a gift from his ancestress, the great cat Sekhmet.  You of course realize by now, that there was something rather magical about Minx.  In fact, after much study and a few particularly lucid dreams, he became convinced that he was in fact a descendent of the great Egyptian Goddess.


Linked to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Tale Weaver’s Prompt (though I might be a little off theme 😉 ) (The introduction can be found HERE)

Tale Weaver and The Sunday Whirl – Mythical Creatures – March 25, 2015



Walking through the forest, I came upon a lovely villa, its lights burned invitingly gave it a dream like effect.  Beginnings are always a bit ambivalent … think about Hansel and Gretel, the witch’s house seemed a child’s paradise, but in the end, well we all know what happened.

This dream house had its own special powers of attraction so, I walked down the path then up the stairs, wondering who might be the owner of such a delightful place.   Near the door stood a clay pot and instead of lovely geraniums or some other ornamental plant, I am sorry to say, there were quite a few bird’s skeletons.  That should have given me a clue about the inhabitant of this mausoleum and served to have me leave immediately, but I was tired and decided to ring the bell anyway.

The door opened a crack and there stood a butler of sorts.  I told him I’d lost my way in the woods and needed to use the telephone.  He just looked at me.  I figured the man didn’t understand me, so I tried speaking to him in one of the other tongues I’m able to speak.  He still made no reply.  At this point, I heard a ‘voice’ in the background and the butler stepped back to let me pass.

My host was a large dark figure in a black woollen cape.  I wondered if sleep had stolen me from reality.

“Meow help youuuuuuuu?” said the figured personage.

“Well, I just need the use of your telephone actually.” I replied trying to be as blasé as I could.  I’d realized that the creature before me was some sort of monstrous cat!  The green eyes that reflected in the light were fixed upon me.  I was wondering if I might have been mistaken for prey to be caught for dinner.

“Neow weee’ve noew fffone … ” the figure replied again.

I thanked my host or hostess, it was hard to tell which, turning to leave but found the door had been firmly closed behind me.

The cat person removed its cape and stood before me in all its glory.  Well glory isn’t actually the right description.   It looked like an over-grown alley cat that had been in many a scrape.  The right eye was ruined and puckered shut, the left ear was a torn up rag of a thing.  When I say over-grown cat, I’m talking about 5 feet 9 inches of over grown brindled cat.

“I allllways neow a cat luuuuuver when I seee one! Come come.  Don’t be ssssssshy!” and my host, for I’d decided that it must be a male cat, led me to the candle-lit parlour (“come into my parlour said the spider to the fly” came to mind.)

I was invited to sit upon an old settee and the personage offered me a choice of drinks .. catnip wine or a nice cup of tea.  I accepted the tea, though I thought it would probably be catnip laced.

Soon the butler brought the tea.  The cat, whom we may now call Minx, had told me his name, began to tell me his story.  He was related to an Egyptian cat goddess, who’d disseminated around the world her young thousands of years before.  He had been like any normal cat though until one morning he woke up with excruciating pains in his limbs and a terrible back ache.  He’d grown from a sturdy three-foot high cat (when he stood on his hind legs) to the monster I had before me.

I listened sympathetically for hours, what else could I do, still wondering what my fate would be.

“Well …. naaaw.  You’vvve my story.  Go and write it, my ancestress has told me all about you!”

At that moment a rat flitted out of a crack in the wall and Minx jumped upon it and devoured it in a second.  I shuddered thinking what he could do to me, however it seemed that I was to be let free, in order to write stories about Minx and his life.

I walked away from the house and when I looked back, there was no sign of a house ever having been in these woods at all.  I soon found the road and a small pub.  I went in and ordered a stout.

“Have you ever seen the house in the woods?” I asked the bar maid.  She just looked at me as though I were some sort of alien.

A man near me looked me up and down, then he said:  “There was a house, long ago.  It was the property of an old witch named Bast or something of the sort.  Burned her, her cat and her house back in 1645.  No one ever goes near there now.  It’s haunted they say by a huge brindled cat wot eats anything that get’s near it.”

I finished my beer silently and began to think about the stories Minx had told me.

© G.s.k. ‘15

Wordle #204: through, am, clay, burns, wild, tongues, dream, beginnings, powers, end, stolen, sleep

Sunday Whirl banner     the Sunday Whirl

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Tale Weaver Prompt

The Upright Piano – July 31, 2014

The upright piano

Credit: Favim



It was a misty hour at dawn
When walking through the woods I heard
A melody echoing through the trees
It was neither wind nor bird …

At that misty hour of dawn
It was a melody of a ghostly strain
An echo of a piano filled the air …
Like a sonata by Mozart or Chopin

I thought, how odd to hear this sound …
Perhaps it comes from the valley below,
Someone playing most beauteously
I continued on my morning walk.

Then I came upon an object,
Which I’d never thought to see …
T’was an old abandoned upright piano
In the undergrowth among the trees.

The music had stopped I noted then
I touched the keys, they were dead …
This could not be the eerie source
Of the music of that misty dawn.

I went along that misty morn …
Then I felt a chill go through my hair.
When the piano was far behind me
Music again echoed through the air.



Written for Freewrite

Through her Mask – July 17, 2014 – Poetry (Quatrain Fantasy)


Marcela Bolivar

Through her mask she pondered,
The crystallized heart of paradise.
Innocent with her silent secrets,
Written in a code unknown by all.

Looking from the promontory,
The sea frothed with mighty waves,
Her heart pounded crazily
As she watched the schooner flailed.

Her golden plumes disintegrating,
Subdued she shivered breathless …
She thought she should petition
Their liege lord of the afterlife.

Flesh is so ephemeral
It’s branded to disintegrate
Life is just a gossamer thread
So easily rent asunder.

Through her mask she gazed …
A tear drop flowed down her cheek
For the souls of all humanity
And their fragile hold on life.

Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie : Prompt 17

Black and Yellow Feather Dreams

01_vurt_final-1024x640Black and Yellow Feather Dreams

I found the feather upon my bedside table one morning, and was fascinated by the exquisite combination of yellow swirled with black high lights.

“Did you leave a feather for me before you left this morning?” I asked David over the phone a few hours later?

“Feather, what feather…no, I didn’t leave anything for you this morning.” he replied.  In point of fact he was very accurate, not even an interesting memory.  We finished our conversation and I picked up the feather again.

‘Could make an interesting pen,’ I thought to myself  ‘just put in a refill…” which is precisely what I did.  I have a fantastic collection of half chewed-up pens…I can’t seem to go without gnawing on a pen when I’m thinking as I write.  I was thinking that I probably I wouldn’t chew on a feather, so a pen feather might be just the thing for writing my poetry without ruining my teeth!

That afternoon, I sat down for my two-hour session of poetry. I put the pen to the paper and then realized I didn’t have anything to write.  That sometimes happens, well it usually does, until I start chewing my pen and staring out the window.  I put the feather in my mouth and sucked it.

And as the winds of time blew wild
The demon of the deep did howl
Leaving Penelope to wring her hands
Thinking of his untimely death!

“Go back, oh creature of the night,
Leave off my life, go on your way,
For I am Penelope of the sky
No demon may walk near my path!”

I looked at the words that seemed to have written themselves.  To say I was perplexed is a mere understatement.  I was surprised, confused and completely lost.  I write simple little verse all light and honey…wherever did this stuff come from?  As I read the two stanza I sucked on my pen, and then started writing again.

And her god-head of life met his gaze
The demon of the lowly deep shuddered
And then an enchantment she uttered
Be gone foul beast, leave me now!

The demon howled yet again:
“I have your man within my powers
And if you suck that mixed yellow pen
The black will fill you ever more.

You feel your haunty majesty
You taunt me in your wicked rhymes
Yet know I’ve chosen to take you on,
My powers you’ll feel well-nigh!”

‘How extraordinary!’ I thought, ‘My muse has even incorporated this pen into my poem!’

I felt my head spin and a little nauseated too.  ‘I think this pen is making me sick though.’ I said to myself.  I got up and went to rinse out my mouth.  I spat out the yellow and black dye that had come off of the feather and thought I’d better go out for a walk to clear my head.

I never used the feather pen again, and so the poem remained unfinished.

Written for: Tale Weaver’s Prompt #3 “Vurt” – Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie prompt.

We Drink Wednesday Short Story Prompt: 5 September 2013

The bird


High above in the ancient skies of Glenvernorgo, flew the omen that made men shake and seek a double dose of their poppy juice, the werebird.  Made of pure light, when Deux’s anvil was struck by his mighty hammer, it flew on high warning men of dire times.

Mikaelos entered the tavern and swaggered up to the counter, where a pretty red-haired girl was drawing beer for some other customers.  He’d been traveling since the break of dawn, now the sun was setting.

He was tired, his long, brown hair, grayed with road dust.  His blue eyes fixed the maid’s green in his steady, weary stare.  She squirmed prettily a little discomforted and shyly smiled.

“What do you need, stranger?”

“A bath, some food and a bed, but I’ll be happy for some of that beer too.”  He spoke in a low-pitched but clear voice which usually got the attention he wanted.  He’d been born with the “voice”, once heard, most people were willing to do whatever he wanted them to do, within limits of course.

She presented him with his beer and said she’d see about the room and bath.

Drinking slowly, Mikaelos looked around the tavern.  It was dim, smokey and everything one could imagine a port tavern would be.  He saw two persons sitting closely conversing at one of the tables in the darker corners of the room.

“Ok sir.  Do you want to eat first or have a bath?  You have a private room that looks out onto the port.” she seemed to think this might be important to him, “I’ve got to know if you want the bath first so I can draw the water for you.”

“I’ll have the bath first.  And tell me fair lady, will you help me wash my back by chance?”

Blushing she replied: “Oh, um, no.  I’ve got to work you see, but I might tuck you into bed tonight.”

“Now that would be just lovely milady.”

“Finish your beer while I have your bath drawn.”

He continued the inspection of the common room.  Outside of the two cloaked characters, there seemed to be the same run of the mill clientele; sailors, shopkeepers and a few travelers like himself.

“Jozef will take you to the bathes.  If you need anything, he will help you.  I’ll get your table ready in the meantime.  Will you be wanting meat or fish?”

“I’ll have the meat.” he answered as he followed the lad out of the back door into the bathing area.

After soaking for nearly half an hour, his bath was getting a little cold, so he asked the boy to add some more hot water.  Then he finished washing himself and the grabbed the towel that was sitting beside the large pool-like tub.  Opening his saddle bag, which he’d carried in with him, he pulled out his change of clothes.

“Can these be cleaned and dried before tomorrow evening?” he asked Jozef indicating his travel-worn cloak, britches and shirt.

“Yes milord, I’ll start on them right off.”

Mikaelos returned to the common room, ate his dinner in avid silence and then set back to smoke his pipe sipping from his mug of beer.  He realized that the cloaked couple were no longer in the room, in fact, there was only one other person in the room, besides the barmaid.  A man, in his early 40s perhaps, with a long beard and dressed in a druid’s cloak.  Mikaelos noticed that the man was also looking at him, and so nodded.

The man rose and came over to Mikaelos’ table, sitting down without being invited.

“I’m Frakos from Spearn and you, my dear lad, must be Mikaelos from Giostral.”

“You have the advantage on me.  How is it you know my name?”

“I was advised of your coming by common friends.  I would have known you anyway, since your reputation has preceded you.  There are few now days that possess the “voice”, and yours I’ve seen would woo a unicorn.  You couldn’t have guessed that yon maid, actually prefers other maidens in her bed, yet she made an appointment with you!”

“Really!  And you dear druid Frakos, do you have the “ear” that you heard my conversation so easily?”

The druid with hearty guffaw said:  “Alas, no, I read lips and body language.” he added, “Finish your beer.  We’ll take a walk along the pier where we can speak privately.  And I must warn you, I’m not the only one who recognized you.”

Mikaelos finished his beer and they walked out into the night.

(To be continued….maybe.)

For the Wednesday Story Prompt from We Drink Because We’re Poets

Genre:  Fantasy

Words included: Unicorn, anvil, poppy, pier