On the ald high hyll a giant
sits over the valley, to watch
all the comings and the goings
of their love and the slight river
in woe.
For Alphin left little doubt
as to how great he would grow
for water to shake and shout
til’ no more seed could he sow.

There was no love for the torrent.
Alderman sighed for dear Alphin,
a cold breath which did make shiver
all the grass and the small fae folk
who cling
close to coiling hairs which knot
into bracken. Here they swing,
and dance, play all day and plot
against kin, Alphin’s offspring.

From first morning blink, the folk sing.
Each moment of light, chirping and
chittering, they plot through their song.
The sadness of Alderman be
their call.
Elder to them, haven, home.
Growing more jealous of all
the waters who rise and roam
but most: the pearls that they haul.

With the advent of dawn does hold
a deep mist weeping, in service
to a dull moon. A pale wetness
Wallowing low to hide its kin.
Until
sunne sends fine strength in warm light,
To loose the water’s bound will
and cause such haze to be slight,
giving faint view to far hill.

The valley between plays host to
doings done in sound secret, cast
from esteem. Here knights do unsheath
and bone beaus off the bypath, bent
by need.
By wood trunk and by great stones,
where lusts take their root, they plead
for their knight’s pearls amidst moans.
Sunken in shame at their deed.

Alderman peered, hunted for love
in sights that shimmer through slivers
of broken fog. But their heart, see,
no more could it take, before it
broke too.
With wretched wailing they thrust
upward, sending rock askew,
great boulders rent and thrown, bust
on Alpin’s peak, cleft in two.

At dawn and dusk, day after day
earth was launched in any which way.
Vast banks of rock found home anew
on either hill’s crest, bedded deep
in dirt.
All until one found fell mark,
falling with a final spurt,
a crimson red bloom. O’ hark !
to peat does Alpin revert.