Dance ’til the End of Time

Searching, I find that which I seek

A toadstool circle at the base of an oak

Slowly, I dance to build my mystique

Catching the eye of a woodland folk

Adorned in leaves and pine cones to boot

Upon her head sits a leafy crown

Her smile is bright, her mischief takes root

She grabs my hand and swings me ‘round

Her scent is heady

And I may swoon

My feet grow unsteady

I lose track of the tune

I have grown old but once I was free

For the fairies danced with silly old me

Image by Prawny from Pixabay