Straif the Blackthorn ... surrender

With my blackthorn cane 
I prodded and pointed to find my way.
With my fairy tales limb 
I was a hero to face giants I needed to slay.
Live blossom scent convinced me 
and inspired me where to go;
But nay, those giants were my ancestry 
wrapped up in a sloe.

A sloe, or two, with apples 
makes mighty fine jelly,
But if not kept dark, cold, and hidden, 
may get a bit too smelly.
So left in the cold, 
and through any treacherous night, 
I stay awake, longing for light 
so I can, at last, taste this delight. 

But as soon as 
came the morrow,
Eager to commence it 
without sorrow,
She came sweet, sincere 
and most definitely cunning; 
Her eyes, my eyes joined at the jelly, 
that started running .

Tears, hot, dropped 
from just above my face,
Darkness to light searingly hurt 
but, yay, I have found may place
Beyond all calling to all points 
that break us and betray.
Escaped from the gauntlet of all pain 
that a hero carries today.  

Some say, better the bramble than the blackthorn; 
Better the blackthorn than the devil re-born
Because a blackthorn stick or flower guides
Us to a place where there's no need to hide.

But where is this place 
a lone worn traveller may ask?
I say, ask the blackthorn faerie 
but first she will give you a task
And I warn you she'll mark you 
with her berries of indelible ink, 
But you'll love all if you surrender 
to the nectar she'll offer you to drink.

to read an explanation of this story poem please click here