|My young love said to me, my Mother won't mind,|
And my Father won't slight you, for your lack of kine.
Then she stepp'd away from me, and this she did say,
"It will not be young love, 'til our wedding day."
She stepp'd away from me, and she moved through the fair,
And fondly I watched her, move here and move there.
Then she went her way homeward, with one star awake,
As the swan in the evening, moves over the lake.
The people were saying, no two were e'er wed,
And a sadness inside me, was one never said.
Then she passed straight beside me, with her goods and her gear,
And that was the last I, e'er saw of my dear.
She came to me last night, through the door she came in,
So softly she entered, her feet made no din.
Then she came close beside me, and this she did say,
"It will not be long love, until our wedding day."
By Natasha Warnes 13/04/1994 - 28/07/2011
"The best Fantasy is written in the language of dreams" – George R.R. Martin|
A devout lover of fantasy art and literature, I enrolled at Bath Spa University to do creative writing in 2010, and am due to graduate in 2014. I enjoy writing, drawing, music, martial arts, role-playing, dressing up, and horse riding. I'm very keen on Norse and Celtic Mythology, with a special focus on mythological bestiaries.