Winter woods
The sun was getting low
and through a clearing
leaked a pale, faint flow
of beams, most alluring.
Zephyr came round and blew
hosts of stars from the sky
until glittering veils flew
among nigh trees to die.
The heart contrived somehow
the sceptic mind to bow
to what the eyes had seen,
fays lighting the winter scene
dancing
from bough to bough.