In the blanketing mist,
In a mysterious wood,
A craggy castle quietly stood.
On a path, that’s well worn,
That I walk each day,
This mysterious castle is disguised by the hay.
To many who pass, it looks like a tree,
Cut off in its glory to the height of a knee,
In my imagination, there is more that I see.
There are turrets and doors,
There are rooms at the ready,
To welcome faire folk when the moon’s high and steady.
I imagine great parties,
With dancing and feasts,
While the faire folk arrives on elegant beasts.
Some come in carriages,
Covered in jewels.
While others arrive on frogs from the pools.
Still, others arrive
Flying high in the air,
With glitter and stardust alight in their hair.
From the windows and doors,
There’s a welcoming glow,
As the faire folk arrives in a regal show.
There is dancing and pageantry,
All the night through,
But in morning, it’s over, and all is subdued.
In the blanketing mist,
In a mysterious wood,
A craggy castle is misunderstood.
In the moonlight, it’s lively,
But during the day,
It’s a broken-down tree hidden by hay.