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

Author: jongraylang

Novel Writer, Screenwriter, Filmmaker & occasionally an Actor. Handy with a Sword, Ukulele, and Skis. Author of Nun With a Gun: The Town with No Name, The Matilda, Twistin' Matilda, Black Matilda, and Secret Matilda. Writer of the upcoming Sci-Fi sequel, Waltzing Matilda. View all posts by jongraylang