The Autumn nights Have grown and grown, and then shrank and the daylight More and more is known. All across a magic realm Come awake, the flow Of magic may o'erwhelm.
Flowers blooming Bring the pixies Searching for nectar Thousands of tiny Scintillating Little men and women, They buzz like bees In the wind, through trees.
Over the brook a trout Perpetrates a tragedy An unwary pixy with a high pitched yelp, The little whelp Is fish-food now, Thousands more, Don't have a cow.
In the trees, an Elven Mage, his white hair freized, and lofted, Mane of beard and sand colored eyes scan the terrain, small Hands scrying and lancing And calling out sigils, As the earth and the Worms, underneath, wriggles Coming alive, its Springtime In the Dreamland Faerie.
In response to: The Autumn nights Have grown and grown, and then shrank and the daylight More and more is known. All across a magic realm Come awake, the flow Of magic may o'erwhelm.
Flowers blooming Bring the pixies Searching for nectar Thousands of tiny Scintillating Little men and women, They buzz like bees In the wind, through trees.
Over the brook a trout Perpetrates a tragedy An unwary pixy with a high pitched yelp, The little whelp Is fish-food now, Thousands more, Don't have a cow.
In the trees, an Elven Mage, his white hair freized, and lofted, Mane of beard and sand colored eyes scan the terrain, small Hands scrying and lancing And calling out sigils, As the earth and the Worms, underneath, wriggles Coming alive, its Springtime In the Dreamland Faerie.
Wonderful Bodhi. I want to be there in that realm. You are a marvelous poet. Thanks for your musings.
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Have grown and grown,
and then shrank
and the daylight
More and more is known.
All across a magic realm
Come awake, the flow
Of magic may o'erwhelm.
Flowers blooming
Bring the pixies
Searching for nectar
Thousands of tiny
Scintillating
Little men and women,
They buzz like bees
In the wind, through trees.
Over the brook a trout
Perpetrates a tragedy
An unwary pixy with
a high pitched yelp,
The little whelp
Is fish-food now,
Thousands more,
Don't have a cow.
In the trees,
an Elven Mage,
his white hair freized,
and lofted, Mane of beard
and sand colored eyes
scan the terrain, small
Hands scrying and lancing
And calling out sigils,
As the earth and the
Worms, underneath, wriggles
Coming alive, its Springtime
In the Dreamland Faerie.