What Price Love

May 22, 2026

I crossed the brae at fall of dusk
Where foxfire touched the fen
The crows flew low through crooked firs
And vanished in the glen.

An old wife sat beside the burn
With silver in her hair
She stirred the water with a thorn
And whispered to the air.

“Come nearer, lad, ye wear the look
Of men the dark days claim,
The soul grows lean on buried grief
Though spring returns the same.”

I should have turned from briar shade
As wiser mortals do
But sorrow dulls the edge of fear
And mine had ripened true.

“My bonnie Mae lies cold below
Beneath Fortingall’s yew
I’d trade my soul and every dawn
To speak once more anew.”

The old wife smiled with thornbird lips
Her gaze grew green and wide
The river slowed against the stones
The dark pulled with the tide.

“Then kneel,” she said, “and make the vow
The kindly folk will hear
The Queen beneath the hollow hill
Keeps bargains still, my dear.”

She cut my palm with briar thorns
And let the droplets run
The water turned to blackened wine
And drowned the setting sun.

Then music climbed the withered pines
From pipes beneath the ground
A waltz of bone and velvet shoes
That spun the leaves around.

She rose beside the standing stones
With silken raven hair
Her skin lay pale with emerald eyes
Too lovely to compare.

The antlered lords beside her throne
Kept ravens on their wrists
Their eyes were old as burial cairns
Half hidden in the mist.

“What seeks the son of mortal dust?”
The pale queen softly said
I bowed until my brow touched earth
And spoke of Mae, now dead.

The Queen leaned down with kindly eyes
And brushed my cheek with frost
“No love,” she said, “is ever gone
Though mortal roads are lost.”

She raised one hand like moonlit bone
The pipes began to swell
The forest floor gave one slow sigh
And woke beneath their spell.

Then Mae stepped through the silver ferns
With roses in her hair
Her cheeks were warm, her eyes were bright
And laughter stirred the air.

She called my name as once she had
Before deaths fatal fall.
My heart forgot the weight of grief,
I scarcely breathed at all.

The Queen then spoke in honeyed tones
“Be grateful for this night
For few are granted back their loves
From death’s unending bite.”

We crossed the moor through silver fog
While dawn unstitched the night
Mae leaned against my weary arm
Her humming low and bright.

The village bells rang loud at morn
Some cheered and then broke bread
But some claimed her smile far too warm
For one they’d counted dead.

Now every eve Mae combs her hair
Beside the kitchen flame
She smiles when neighbors come to call
And answers to her name.

Her hands stay cold through summer heat
No matter how they warm
The mirrors dim whene’er she nears
And clouds around her form.

Yet still she sings the songs we knew
And wears the face I miss
She keeps my fading soul from grief
And greets me with a kiss.

So let the priests all clutch their beads
And warn of fae delight
I hold my darling close each dusk
And sleep quite well at night.

By Heather Patton / Verdant Butterfly

Loved it. As always. In my head I kept hearing the song "The Things We Do For Love."

Wow, that was a long poem, and it had a that's not going to end well for that guy feel.