Hold the sailors shell
and drink of what I tell:
The sail unfurls from broken binding.

Hear him spinning yarns
of ships set out to sea.
We sailed to sleep
with his reminding of
we sisters three, adventuring,
and how we came to be
children who know,
children who see
more than the old oak tree:
entrance to lands
story commands.
Crafter you shaped us a
path to believe more than is seen.
Gratefully we rocked to sleep.

Gone are the footsteps of the faun-
meant to lead us far beyond
to the borders stretching onward, seeking.

Haste!
For the moon is waning, white,
and illuminating all of the foxes
playing in the sand box.

Gone are the days when yard and swing
became glen and wooded ring.
Bearing lanterns, we go
tromping onwards.

Look for the well
beneath the Thorn.
Drink your fill before the morn-
For the first light deems: Return.

Hold these crafter’s tales
against the fearsome gale,
and in these vessels grown and steady
we will navigate homeward to you.