sylvan moments in a dark
lair beneath the flowered tree
a hidden place
a lonely place.
i told myself about those
imagined people living here
gloomy elves, forgetful dwarfs,
hard working royalty clothed
in woolen, hoods disguising
astonishing loveliness, perceptive
wisdom, beholden to witches
who eschewed ebony robes
of fairyhood for pumpkin hues
denoting holiness, genesis,
transition from ogre to angel.
i dug pebbles from the earth
gave them human names with
charismatic gifts of love,
healing and remembrance
i gained what i had sought
acceptance something more
than charm or magic.
i had believed and I was born.