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.


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