LITTLE FOLK:

Those of turned up petal shoe & pointed pine-cone hat,

Supping rose-tinged dew from tiny green acorned cap,

Pixies, fairies, elves, goblins & little red-nosed gnomes,

Those who make deep in forests, their tiny cosy homes,

All those little people, invisible to unbelieving human eye,

Buried deep within bark & leaves, hidden from open sky,

Leaving silently in their wake, chores miraculously done,

Sprinkling behind, moonbeams & the rays of golden sun.

Shoes left polished overnight & found with brilliant shine,

The broken chair restrung & flavour touched to sour wine,

The stars that twinkle suddenly, behind rain spattered pane,

The pup that now gambols, where yesterday limped lame,

Those nuances not explained, all those little niggling things,

Voices in the wind & the idea in our head that gaily sings,

The tiny little folk we sense, but those we cannot ever see,

Echoing tiptoe whispers, disappearing beneath the forest tree.