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
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