Yesteryear Fiction

Castle
By G.F. Rundle


When the sun rises over the isle of Labrador
I hear the sweet, silken songs of my Elvish paramour
And upon the hill where the stones lie forevermore
I step across the ruins of a castle, what was once a door.

And when the sun sets and falls slow into the sea
I miss the sweet, silken songs of the Elves in the fae-light tree
And upon the hill where the winds roam unfettered and free
I leave the ruins of the castle, know that the castle is a reflection of me.


- - -
G.F. Rundle teaches at an elementary school in a rural mountain community and has been called both “cute” and “sexy” by passing motorists. His middle name is the same as a German town that a lot of people don’t initially believe exists until they see photos of the welcome sign.