Elves

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                     "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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