This is a poem I wrote in half an hour. Not the best in the world, but I had fun
When you’re lost on the moor
And night approaches
With the sighing of a frosty wind
Beware good traveler
Of the faerie lights
The land is bare and windswept
Harsh and beautiful
A wild lady untamed
Beware good traveler
Do not roam after dark
We all know the tale
Of that foolish London man
Come to visit his family
Who traveled over the moors
Ignoring their warning
He set off too late
Poor stupid fool
And soon it was dark
And he’d lost his way
Stumbling through the bracken
It was early autumn then
Yet already a nip was in the air
He soon got cold and wet
Shivering and breathing on his hands
He tried to keep warm
There was no one for miles
And he lost his way
Before long there was pitch blackness
No welcoming light in the distance
Telling of fire and home
Then he saw a light
Pale and unearthly
Not far ahead
It bobbed gently
Seeming to beckon for him
Without a thought he went towards it
Smiling feebly
Despite his trembling frame
His one desire and his only hope
Kept in that illumination
Was it a tramp at his fire?
A snug home
With food laid out?
Or a traveler like himself
Carrying a lantern?
He soon came to where it had been
But no light was to be found
No trace of it ever existing
Beware good traveler
Of the faerie lights
Was it imagined?
Or had he gone the wrong way?
His last joy distinguished
With that imagined comfort
He knelt in despair
He saw it again soon
A little to the left
And hope sprung up in him
Like a fire to a match
He ran, unknowing to his fate
Again it vanished
Again he found it
Always he ran
Laughing like a madman
Not caring what happened
When he stopped
He found himself unable to move
Squirming he tried to get free
Of what held him down
But it was too late
We never saw him again
That foolish man from London
Though we looked many a day on the moor
All that was found was his boot
Half sunk in the peat
So when you travel on the moorland
Always start early
And remember what we say
Beware good traveler
Of the faerie lights