The magic of the moment lost in fog
Retains a sinful wishing of itself
To sit beside a busy little elf and ask an inane question for the joy
To watch a quick confusion raise a doubt
As ageless pointed ears twitch curl annoyed
What was it I was thinking of before
I turned and saw this figure at my door?
Just standing oh so tremble and demure
And then she smile and I was lost, asea
To wonder where or whether I could be
So far adrift and lost as lost could be
Although the elf is laughing. full of glee
All is not really lost. She married me.
Copyright © Donald Meikle