Elves

"The high elves revel," seer would say in forests dark till dawns golden array Weaving a spell through nature's lush green anointing her yew is their nightly routine Blessing blue ash within its roots they ground a plethora of currency, for the king, has been crowned Endowing hazel with a brown bounty of fruit then carving from her branches magical flutes Resting awhile in the strong arms of an oak clipping some acorns to feed their four-legged folk Returning to the hawthorn on white horses they prance withdrawing into the shadows until moon casts her glance