The Lantern and the Lark

 The Lantern and the Lark 

In a village lost to map and time,
Where fog draped hills like silver rhyme,
A girl named Elen walked each night
With just a lantern's flickering light.

She’d hum a song of stars and streams,
Of restless woods and velvet dreams,
And though her home was warm and near,
She wandered wide, alone, no fear.

One twilight deep, the air turned still,
No cricket chirp, no whippoorwill.
The lantern dimmed, the shadows crept—
Yet Elen walked, as if she slept.

A rustle stirred the elder pine.
From dusk emerged a shape so fine—
A lark with feathers touched by flame,
And eyes like coals that knew her name.

"Why walk the dark?" the lark inquired,
"Where light is thin and feet grow tired?"
Elen smiled and softly said,
"I chase the dreams my mother led."

"She vanished here, one moonless fall,
Beyond the brook, beyond the wall.
They say the woods forget your face,
But I must look. I must embrace."

The lark then turned, its wing aglow,
And beckoned her through paths of woe.
They passed through roots that spoke in creaks,
And branches bent like whispers’ beaks.

At last, a clearing bathed in blue—
A lake that mirrored star and dew.
And there, upon a stone so wide,
Her mother sat with her arms stretched wide.

“Elen, child, the veil is thin,
Between the worlds of now and then.
You followed love, you followed song—
And that is where the brave belong.”

The lark dissolved into the air,
Its embers trailing everywhere.
Elen wept, then laughed, then stood—
And walked back home through ancient wood.

Now, children say they see her pass
With lantern light upon the grass.
They say she hums, she knows the way—
To where the night won’t make you stray.