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The Magic Lost

There was a time so long ago when magic left the hour.
And faeries fled their secret holes, and took with them their power.
The colours changed to grayer shades; the singers lost their song.
The truth’s brightness began to fade; only one knew what was wrong.

Young was he, of handsome face with eyes green as the trees
Bright and clear they carried grace. He’d the name Daffyd ap Rhys.
A bard alike to those now gone, a son of Taliesin.
Taught amid fair Avalon the magic he would bring.

He faced the dark and the deceit ‘til gnawed at his own soul.
He tried to summon songs so sweet but all his words turned foul.
So he sought the faeries for their aid, to beg of them a boon.
For him a magic harp they made beneath the rising moon.

The priceless treasure they would grant for a promise in return:
That he would leave his loved land or else his need they’d spurn.
In one full cycle of the sun to them he must come back
And live with them and no human; his comp’ny they’d not lack.

To this grave oath the bard did swear to save his people’s hearts.
Quick, he left for his land once fair to play his magic harp.
For a year he played, his words rang true and brought the people light.
And faery magic came with the moon to banish the growing night.

After the year had come and gone, he knew his time expired.
In the land Faerie he’d sing his songs with body never tired.
He left his home, his friends, his land, the one whom saved them all.
Before the faery king he’d stand to bring magic to their hall.