By the Tavern of Fould

She is a dream. She is a dream?

Luring many into an enticing cruel limbo, she spares none!

A piece by Chai


Tortured Tavern.

Ghosts of Fould

No lad nor lady

But gloom lit mold.


I remember this place

Quite forgotten now

I remember this place

That shows blood and brown


I remember this place

Naught quite like this

I remember this place

The meet of Miss


A memory streams,

Faint,  no. Bold.

Of Miss standing alone

By the Tavern of Fould


Her lips curved

As she stood in wait

Of an estranged lover

Perhaps a mate?


At the Tavern of Fould,

Lads call her in

Ladies look in awe,

As she walked to the inn.


When she laughs

Oh see her shine

Every man wishes

‘I wish she were mine.’


When she walks

No, she glides

Her steps so soft

Dew sweetened lullaby.


Oh her beauty

Had no bound

Even God himself

Was in her awe, found.


I did not know her

Nor will I ever.

I didn’t wish then to greet her

Nor will I never.


But now here I am

By the Tavern of Fould

The place still quite there

But nothing as memory told.


Was the tavern always dead?

Was their no man no bread?

Was Miss a miraged theme?

Just another long drawn travellers dream?