Dancing with shadows so often unseen,
listening to voices that never have been.
Walking with spirits you know are true,
while prejudices past hold on like glue.
These are the paths so often untrod
‘cept by the ones we often call “odd”.
P’raps these are places hid from the herd;
like hearing the sound of the unspoken word.
So listen those times when silence is near
to the sounds that you hear, way off past fear.
Perhaps you will hear them if you listen well;
for the Pixies are dancing down in the Dell.
The Fair Folk are singing high in the trees;
at times they resemble the buzzing of bees.
But open you mind and open your heart
and soon you will feel the magics true art.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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