Well….. I’ve made it through NaPoWriMo with at least a few brain cells intact. Now that I’ve had a week to recharge the batteries, I’ve decided it’s time to remedy that. I’m going to seque into a new format. Instead of writing a poem every single day, I’m going to try and put up something creative two or three times a week. It may be a poem, or a drawing; a bit of short fiction or an essay on something of interest to me. Whatever it may be, the page will continue…

 

THE OLD WAYS

I take a little bread and milk,

And put it in a bowl.

I leave it for the little folk,

Who live beneath the knoll.

 

It’s best to always care for them,

For then they’ll care for you.

But if you don’t, you cannot guess,

Just what it is they’ll do.

 

If you should be out on the green,

And hear a piping song.

Or someone fiddling merrily,

You must not tarry long.

 

The little folk all love to dance,

They’re merry ’tis no lie.

If they ensnare you with their tunes,

You’ll dance until you die.

 

There is a hole a hidden way,

Which leads beneath the sod.

Where dwell the folk of legend still,

Safe from invading God.

 

I know you’ve heard of treasure there,

Such riches so they say.

But do not try to find that hoard,

I beg you stay away.

 

For all you’ll find is fairy dust,

Which gets into your mind.

‘Til you forget the real world.

Drift off leave all behind.

 

Now in the morning mist I see,

The long grass start to sway.

I know the ancient folk are out,

To start upon their day.

 

So honour them, these folk of yore,

Your offerings prepare.

For though you may not see or hear,

I swear they still are there.

 

The folk of legend, little folk,

Dwell still beneath the hill.

And dance and laugh and sing each night,

I pray they always will.

 

Cheers, Winston