This is a traditional English folktale.
The village is surrounded by a bog
That’s home to boggarts, goblins: sprites of darkness.
They fear the sun, and cannot stand his light
But creep out of their hollows in the night
To lure lost souls to slimy, stinking death
And then they fear no force except the moon.
And how they hate her! Lovely Lady Moon,
The friend to travellers lost in the bog
Who, late at night have wandered close to death
She lends her light to guide them through the darkness
So they escape the creatures of the night:
The creatures who detest her silver light
One night, a wanderer, bereft of light
Searching the empty sky for Lady Moon
Began to fear he’d not survive the night
That he would be pulled down into the bog
Cried out into the dank malicious darkness
“Oh save me, Lady Moon, from certain death!”
And she would not condemn a soul to death.
She hurried down, and spread her gorgeous light
Sent all the goblins scurrying for darkness
Resplendent in her goodness: Lady Moon
But suddenly her cloak caught in the bog
And she was trapped: the goblins had the night.
They swarmed towards her, filling up the night
All eager to condemn the Moon to death,
They forced her down into the stinking bog.
Extinguishing her haunting, silver light.
But soon the villagers all missed the Moon
As every night meant unrelenting darkness.
They asked a wise old crone about the darkness
She said the moon would not forsake the night
She must be in the bog. They sought the moon
Weak mortals in the dark, all risking death
They found her, and they freed her silver light,
And as she rose, her face lit up the bog.
Oh Lady Moon, protecting us from darkness!
Lost in the bog, we call to you at night:
We’ll not fear death while you give us your light.
Tom Juniper Poetry 