Fairytale

Come within this wood,
recall the tales from childhood, of mystic spells
and wishing wells,
for here they all are true.
 
Look closely, and I trust,
you'll see the grains of pixie dust, which lightly float
in golden motes
between the shafts of shade.
 
Hear a chorus sung
by gentle oaks in sylvan tongue, a chorus made
to songs that fade beneath
the susurrus of leaves.
 
Peek where ferny fronds
wet their feet in misty ponds, and hollowed grooves
of unicorn hooves scar
the emerald moss.
 
If suddenly the floor
is rattled by primeval roars, of raging might
from distant heights, fear not,
it's just a dragon's sneeze.
 
Watch as brownies shoot
through little doors, between the roots of gnarled trees
or pause to tease the fish
in purling streams.
 
Before the blush of dawn,
you may encounter dancing fauns, who kick their heels
in rustic reels, that soar
on feisty flutes.
 
Walk this wooded trail,
for only here can you inhale the silver dew
and melt into the fragments
of a fairytale.