The Ballad of You and Me – By Melanie Lewis, In Response to a Challenge.

Creative writing rocks.

I received a response from a dear friend and fellow writer in response to the challenge to write a ballad as I proposed in the article covering my ballad, ‘Pigeons Nesting on my Stoop’, published in last week’s SAFREA Chronicle. Merely having received the response was exciting, but once I had read the poem, I was exhilarated and blown away.

My immediate response was simply “wow”. So much so that I have asked Mel, the author, if she would mind if I wrote a song to the lyrics of the poem. She agreed, so for the next couple of weeks I will be composing and trying out different forms of music suited best to the poem/lyrics. This poem certainly struck a chord with me, no pun intended.

The poem, ‘The Ballad for You and Me’ by Mel Lewis, is structurally sound as a ballad, with very little poetic license used here and there to suite her style of poetry writing. It is astoundingly beautiful, and it originates from a beautiful heart. It certainly moved me emotionally.

Congratulations to you, Mel, very well done. Thank you for taking me up on the challenge.

I have posted the ballad below, and it is a haunting poem set in Ireland. Mel is Irish and the poem reflects her world view.

The Ballad of You and Me - By Melanie Lewis

We grew up wild beside the lake
And gentle wood where fairies played.
Though they’d only come to dance at night
When you and I were tucked up tight.
 
We’d find the trails their feet had worn,
In the dew-wet grass of early dawn,
And step inside those fairy rings,
Close our eyes, and spin and spin.
 
Your hands in mine, we’d wish to be
In lands of talking flowers and trees.
We knew the magic in the air
Could carry us to anywhere.
 
We grew up wild where legends roamed,
Like restless ghosts in a haunted home.
The time-worn house with a wounded past,
Though it loved its children to the last.
 
Ours were tales of broken hearts,
Of fortunes won and fortunes lost,
And a gypsy curse upon a ring,
That haunts the gypsy’s daughters still.
 
But Angels walked the halls at night,
Our guardians to watch and guide,
And a widow wraith whose mournful cries
Would warn the sons of those to die.
 
We grew up wild beside green fields,
With dolmen tombs and daffodils,
Played Druids in the circled stones,
And felt their power in our bones.
 
We’d ride the land on wooden steeds,
Brave warriors of light, were we.
Our foe lived in the forest deep -
The Wicked Witch of Darkwood Keep.
 
But we were of the ancient ones,
Line of the Tuatha de Danann*,
Born in the stars, fair as the sun,
We weren’t afraid of anyone.
 
And though the Wild is long ago,
And time has brought us both to know
A different world with a colder face,
Where Myth and Magic have no place.
 
I keep the memories safe in me,
When we were brave and bright and free,
And no matter where in space or time,
I’ll hold your heart, and you’ll hold mine.
 
* Pronounced Thoo-a-day Du-non.

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