In the shadows of the elder trees,
Down past the Runyon's trickling waters,
Beyond the swarming hives of bees,
That raised by Unloos daugthers,
Therein lies the sacred wood,
Where magic hath not faltered,
Beneath the wander's darkening hood,
Where Hope is never haltered.
Here, in this sacred place,
Within this ferny wood,
There yet lives a creature of soft grace,
Whose self is made of Good.
We have so long ago abandoned her,
With our "modern" thoughts and ways,
Until she ne'er in presence stir,
To brighten up our days.

Have you lost your childlike sense of dream?
Cannot you see her standing there?
Is the world truly as it seem?
Do you even really care?

Take a moment and wipe your eyes,
Let the misty tendrils slip away,
And once beneath those clear blue skys,
You can see her in the meadow play!
Do not fear it.
Do not shun it.
Embrace the magic call.
You are a part of it.
You are within it.
And it is your all and all!