the other world

who can tell what rivers end in a hidden sea
with waves of which no legend's ever spoken
on unsung shore's eternally they've broken
to which the ghosts and fairies always flee
on some low coastal hill an ancient great tree
stands almost silent a barely-rustling token
long-standing keeper of a place unwoken
and servant to a barely-heard decree
of gods unmentioned and of powers unknown
the place is kept especial and apart
no ship of men or women rides those waves
no human skin has felt the wind that's blown
over those waters and no human heart
will beat in concord with those unfading staves