Elven Musing

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.