A Fateful Midsummer

by TS S. Fulk

This year for midsummer

we fled north to Lapland

to praise the midnight sun

Naked and free we danced

morning cloak butterflies

we worshiped with the wind

We believed our festivities

would amuse the mother goddess

who would honor us with a boon

forgetfulness by nepenthe 

for our souls carry the boulders

pestilence famine war and death

under whose encumbrance we pine

No boon she brings but bane

a rough beast slouching from the east