Ash, Keeper of the Hidden Gate
I heard the water sing and time grew still,
An Ash tree leaned on this moonlit hill.
Its roots entwined with secret springs,
Its branches crown forgotten kings.
This sentinel of hollowed space,
Guards the realms we dare not face.
Not cruel, nor kind—but always wise,
It weighs the truth in mortal eyes.
In trio bound—oak, thorn, and ash—
Their presence marks the faerie path.
And where they grow, the veil grows thin—
A breath, a blink—and I stepped in.
Ash berries to ward the cradle tight,
Against the fae who steal the night.
Its sap once stirred in newborn veins,
To keep them free from changeling chains.
Oh, I recall that sacred tree—
Nine worlds, nine fates, all for me.
From ash, the spear, the wound, the trial—
The price of vision gained through trial.
I as seeker, knew to tread with care—
For the ash tree sees, and will not spare
A heart that lies, a soul untrue—
Its bark will burn that falsehood through.
Yet my need was pure and deep,
For dreams of truth to bind my sleep,
I knelt beneath its greening shroud,
And spoke no word too sharp or proud.
For ash is both the gate and guide,
The spring, the flame, the sword, the tide.
It opened paths through dream and pain—
It lead me home then back again.
WoPoLi 
Leave a comment