Changeling

Grady McMurtry

13 September 1941

It is cold within the nether skies;

Yet I flow through the darkness streaming

Down to where, in stoupor screaming

As her labor bursts her thighs,

There is blood and pain and—there it lies!

With a frightened passion churning

In my soulless body, burning

Vortex of unholy yearning,

Gaze I on the sightless eyes.

Then, just ere the infant’s natal cries

Ring out into the still, black morning

With it’s fright and lethal warning,

Time and space of matter scorning,

Sheath I in this new disguise!

Thus it is that none of Fairey ever dies.

Though the sacrament be spoken

With the eucharist for token

It is so they may be broken

By the art the elfin plies.

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