Elder, the Veiled Root
Beneath the boughs where silence sighs,
The Elder waits with watching eyes.
Not leaf nor bark, but spirit breath—
She blesses birth, and cries for death.
A queen once danced beneath her shade—
The Faerie Queen, in moonlight laid.
She kissed the root, she touched the bough,
And left her glamour in its vow.
“Come not with axe nor careless hand,
Lest curse take root where you would stand.
Say first, ‘O Elder Mother, may I?’
Or reap the wrath of those who lie.”
By twilight paths or solstice flame,
The Elder tree will speak your name.
But only if your soul is true—
For lies will twist its bark through you.
It guards the gate to dreams unseen,
Where shadows dance and thoughts convene.
To burn its wood brings spirits’ cry—
Their shriek will echo, sharp and dry.
Yet offer wine of elder flower,
And sit in peace at midnight hour—
The veil may lift, the Queen may show,
A secret path where dreamers go.
Its berries heal, its blossoms bless,
Its breath will soothe a heart’s distress.
But gift it first your truest fear—
Or not a single Wisp draws near.
A cradle carved of elder’s wood
Was said to turn a child to fae.
So wise folk swore they never should
Let babe or changeling sleep that way.
So if you find an elder’s tree,
Alone, at dusk, near hill or sea—
Bow low, speak soft, and make no jest—
For faerie their choose who to bless.
WoPoLi 
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