the fleeting folk

a poem

Upon a walk in evening’s loom
I saw a circlet of mushroom
The grass was battered in the band
With footmarks left by faerieland

’Tis where they dance, the fleeting folk
And sing and drink and pray and sulk
Beneath the shine of crystal lamp
They make their nightly faerie camp

Must I away, forbidden scene?
Glimpse not the court of faerie queen?
Yet if I stayed, they daren’t come
So I returned to where I’m from.

© 2024 Forrest Lybrand