In the middle of an ordinary cornfield,
In an ordinary place,
Stands a small group of trees
Spared from agricultural fate.

Chosen by fairies–
Forever their glade,
Or spared by corporate greed,
Property line arguments man-made.

Whatever the reason,
It rests in the fog,
Magical as ever,
Eerie, a bit odd.

Yet it doesn’t look out of place,
It fits just right,
A hidden little wonder
Tucked away out of sight.

I hope there are fairies,
Or witches, or gnomes,
Living in that haven,
Their whimsical home.