Cottage
Steam rises and hisses,
As he approaches the mystical Glen,
Wherein the one he seeks is rumoured to dwell,
As his booted feet tread the writhing path,
A cottage he doth spy,
Covered in vines which turn in upon themselves,
Time and again giving the tiny cottage the appreance,
Of a living being, moving and swaying erotically,
Mesmerising him giving rise to emotions
Of sensual pleasures only dreamed of.
Approaching the cottage he hears a soft murmuring,
As that of a brook, bubbling merrily along its path,
Peering in the open window,
Disorder and disrepair meets his eager eyes,
The wind seems to mock him,
The vines appear to reach out, to caress him,
His name is called softly,
As though it were a bubbling happy child,
Dreamily he wonders into the depths of the shifting, swaying vines,
To the cool center of her being, finding the peace and serenity,
Of the love he seeks.