Folklore Or Not

Written by: Connie Gildersleeve

The woodland beckons me, calls me within
It's musical chorus can be barely heard
A mystical presence, a tone prevails in the wind

I stumble on wild thickets on the ground
Absent of pathways, thorny brambles instead
Moving along on foot, not easy I have found

Wild sumac, and aggressive vines grows thickly here
But this mysterious music draws me further in
These woods are an impossible hike I fear

Pulling twigs from my hair, I stare
A clearing, moss so deep that feet disappear
In the dappled light dust sparkles are seen in the air

Rapid movements I see to my right
The music is stilled, not a sound except
Quick tiny footsteps taking flight

Folklore of elusive music-playing imps
Vanish magically leaving dust sparkles in the air
Only a brief glimpse I saw of these tiny scamps
A faint single note played, I thought I heard