The Sage (Verse I, Dominicus/Osedicus)

“There’s more to this life than a handful of dust”,
Rued the Sage as he shifted his gaze,
And through all Tillanho cast a wintry gust
Sending chills in a shimmering haze.

A magical carpet of fresh-fallen snow
That no sooner had started did cease,
Covered all of the landscape, a fierce winter show,
As it danced like a wraith on the breeze.

An Owl caught his sight as it perched in a tree
And he smiled as he yelled out its name.
“Osedicus-Tawny, palaver with me
Since in Tillanho nought stays the same.”

They spoke all the evening, the night to next day
Of events passed before in the land.
When Merlin had preached of his wizards’ allay
And when all turned to gold by his hand.

In Tillanho-tongue spoke of ‘Gretchel the White’
And her battle with ‘Magda the Witch’,
Of the vicious affray that ensued with their fight
And concluding in dead Magdas’ ditch.

Of Changelings and Halvelings they spoke of the most
When the Forest of Till was their home.
And of travels they made to the Emerald coast,
In grand galleons the oceans did roam.

To far away places and lands then unknown
Had the Sage and Osedicus been,
By the light of the moon, when no compass had shown,
Found the best land that they’d ever seen.

One enveloped by mountains that touched on the sky
And with prairies that reached to beyond.
Where lakes gleamed like crystals, and Suns’ golden eye
Warmed each surface like red floating fronds.

Remembered King Mizil and Queen Galafare
And their castle on Galantry Hill.
No finer Keep to be found anywhere
As it shadowed the Forest of Till.

King Arthurs descendants had served in their rule
When the Sage was but merely a boy.
And in Valiant Valley, the Knight-yielding school,
Forged a staff for a childhood toy.

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The Sage and Osedicus finished their talk
As the snap of a twig paused their muse,
And stood there a Pegasus steadfast to balk,
White as snow wearing four golden shoes.

“Dominicus White! ” hailed the Sage in a smile,
As Osedicus greeted the same.
“Been flying I’ll wager for maybe a mile,
And you’re getting too old for that game”.

“Absolute clap-trap! ” he whinnied them back,
“For there’s plenty more life in these wings.
And for all of my wanderings no miles do I lack
And my tales do the masses still bring”.

by Warren Atherton

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