Along the lane where we children play
Are runnels in and out the hedge
Where hidy holes and secret dens
Are hid in shadows all the day.
There birds pick crumbs from under foot
And feast on berries we have shook
To ground amongst our homes away from home.
We’ve plucked up grass for a comfy floor
Where we can sit and share our store
And stories tell of dragon times
And knights and gnomes in times of yore.
But come the night when we are gone
The foxes creep from out their holes
And scavenge scraps left from our feasts,
Licking up our daytime treats.
Then the owl hoots loud and silent swoops
Across the ditch and o’er our stoop
To our hidden, magic, elfin den
That’s deep within the glen.
They watch enchantments all night long
Join in the dancing and sing along
And as morning approaches they leave the feast
And the sprites fly off away from the East.
And as we are slumbering in our beds
Great tales are happening in our heads
Of creatures small and ballads sung
Of animals speaking in fairy tongue.
And tomorrow when we visit there
We’ll sense a presence in the air
And we’ll know more than any adult (wo)men
That there’s a magical world in a children’s den.
Idea, poem and photo copyright to Englepip©