Midsummer's Eve

A poem for the day (yesterday was the old midsummer's eve -today is the old midsummer's day)

Oberon, sound your horn, and let your riders fly,
come quickly with Robin Goodfellow,
yclept Puck, mischevious fellow, to do your bidding,
on this day named so long ago after good St. John,
where fires are lit, and dreams are dreamt
in dark forest green.

Oberon, sound your horn, and let your riders fly
to where Titania, mighty in her smallness, holds court,
and that humgruffin, Bottom, lost and ensorcelled,
amuses her, with his ass's ears, bedecked with flowers
in the sylvan moonlight.

Oberon, sound your horn, and let your riders fly,
to where the midsummer's fires burn high in the night,
and the dancers leap, as light as the flames,
where, lovers, pearl touched by the heat of the dance,
steal off, gallionic, into the darkness,
houghmagandy on their minds, dizzy with midsummer's wine,
never mind the morrow.

Oberon, King of Fantasy, sound your horn, and lead
your white stallioned troops out of Faerie this night,
where we might honor you one more time before you ride away,
nearly forgotten.

(I did a word of the day thingie where I had to use the word Houghmagandy, gallionic, yclept, and humgruffin - and this is what came out!)