Poughill's Fest Awaits

An unseen, strange lad anticipates revealing long-held words at Poughill's festival.

Past your gate in Poughill’s grace,
My face unseen, my absence trace,
Through hedgerow lanes I wander, guided near,
By moonlight that makes my purpose clear.

Your October’s fest calls with revelry’s fire,
Its dancing flames awakening desire.
When words I’ve held can now be told,
I’ll walk this path through rain and cold.