SHE TOOK THEN TO THE HILLS (I.P.)

I came downstairs one morning
The doormat swathed in bills,
I paid them no attention
Too wrapped in my own ills.
There is a wooded valley
A secret place I know,
At times when I am troubled
It's here I'm apt to go.

The golden leaves of Autumn
Cloaked the ancient trees,
Some took flight but briefly
With each new breath of breeze.
Down amongst the undergrowth
Where nagging winds can't reach,
The piled discarded finery
Of Rowan, Birch and Beech.

Dappled rays of sunshine
Made puddles on the ground,
Amidst the rustling of the leaves
I heard the strangest sound.
It was no woodland creature
It was not mouse or bird,
The tiniest of voices
Open mouthed I heard.

"We see that you are troubled"
A voice spoke 'mongst the trees,
When I spied the speaker I
Fell speechless to my knees.
A tiny maid, six inches high
In Autumn's hues arrayed,
She looked at me and smiled
Bold and unafraid.

Appearing from the shadows
A dozen of her ilk,
Skin like Autumn sunshine
Hair like finest silk.
"We see that you are troubled"
The fair made spoke again,
"Walk with us a while
Let go the cares of men."

We wound our way in silence,
There was no need for speech,
Silent too our chaperones
The Rowan, Birch and Beech.
The leaf strewn ground before us
Began to gentle rise,
There upon the woodland's edge
The maid voiced her goodbyes.

"I see you're no more troubled"
I saw she spoke the truth,
The warmth I felt within me
The glowing, golden proof.
"We shall come again perchance
You're e'er beset by ills",
With that, with her companions,
She took then to the hills.
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COPYRIGHT DM PAMMENT 11th AUGUST 2010