A Merry Dance

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I walked a while this night just past down in the woodland glade.

And there I met a wee small  chap whose spirit did pervade,

the tall tree boughs and daintiest of flowers,

And the subtle hues of shade and visceral, crafted power.

Of such subtlety and mirth,

he surely knew his own true worth.

And danced there still, a while, no more.

Until the long hand of the sun stretched forth,

casting shadows in the coming of daylights resolute course.

That in a most astounding haste, before my very eyes,

Gone! He went.

His presence never more,

than a fleeting dream of magic long since spent,

in the waning of the year.

 

 

 

 

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