listen, my love, but don't follow.
question, but don't answer.
watch, but don't become enraptured.
for there is beauty and there is grace,
but danger follows closely.
for the folk most fair are crafty
and death comes swiftly after.
from the lilting call from the valleys green,
and the roaring whisper of the winds most proud—
to the steady murmur of the waters deep,
and the swaying song of forest fair.
spring has beckoned you my darling,
and it calls your name,
it beckons you forth—
into the woods with a softly glowing sun,
and curls it's vines and plants its roots behind you.
and forward now is warmth and light,
a cheery little tune.
a dance, a game, a riddle, a rhyme.
and the fair folk come for you.
so sight has cursed you my precious one,
and i've gifted you with knowledge.
should you choose to close your mind,
but keep your ears wide open.
then may your mind be steady and your feet be quick.
for the fair folk hate you leaving.