Old Jack Pine, the Fae and Me

Old Jack Pine with the crooked spine,

friend to all the fairies,

I met on my walk, along the granite rock,

while picking wild blueberries.

On that day, I sought to get away,

from all things—my anxiety.

And of Jack pine, I spoke a rhyme,

that set his bent voice free.

Old Jack pine became a friend of mine,

now all my burdens he carries.

Then a Fae gave me a clock, with a turn key lock,

in exchange for sweet dairies.

I wound the key, and suddenly,

the daylight began to gleam,
A pathway in sight in the morning bright,

appeared just like a dream.

“Step forth, be bold,” the fairies told,

“but heed the time-worn chime,
For if you stray past mid-day,

you’ll be lost beyond all time.”

The hands spun round with a whirring sound,

then chimed an eleventh tune,
A Wisp then spoke from the ancient oak,

“You must return by noon.”

The fairies danced in a silver trance,

their wings with light aglow,
While Jack Pine swayed in the forest shade,

“Take the clock with—as you go”.

I stepped forthright, heart drumming tight,

the clock clutched in my hand,
The fairy glow led soft and slow

to realms of silver sand.

The air was sweet with thyme and peat,

the trees sang songs unknown,
Yet chanting there, in the midday air,

were voices hard as stone.

A river ran unspoiled by hand,

and rippled clear as glass,
Its waters deep, were secrets to keep,

from ages long since passed.

I knelt to sip, cool to my lip,

but heard Old Jack Pine’s plea,
“No mortal shall taste,

lest they fall to waste,

drunk on its memory!”

The fairies laughed and twirled about,

their voices sharp with cheer,
“You hold the clock, the turn-key lock—

you’ve nothing now to fear!

But keep in mind the chime of time,

for when the second note rings,
The door will close, the path dispose,

and bind all wandering things.”

I danced, what fun, in the late morning sun,

lost to time and space,
But far away through shadowed gray,

I glimpsed Jack Pine’s sad face.

His branches bowed, he called aloud,

such sorrow in his call,
For time was fleet beneath my feet—

and I had lost it all.

The chime rang twelve—and I was spelled,

though I fumbled for the key,
The fairies fled, though Jack Pine plead,

the wind howled through the trees.

Hours tipped the sand—and my hand,

became a ghostly gray,
too late, I turned— when I had learned—

the path had slipped away.

Jack Pine stood still, on the granite hill,

his trunk a mournful twist,
His branches bent, his old heart spent—

“Child, I’ve lost you to the mist.”

The clock now stopped, the key now locked,

the fairies—gone for years,
And in this place, my own still face—

is deep inside the gears.