So sang the harpist as he strummed
so sang that merry imp.
Unto the spell, quick to succumb,
and that's why he must limp.
Dream not in groves enchanted so,
dream not in that strange field.
Smile and wave, be quick to go,
to sleep do not there yield.
They take from you more than you guess,
they take, and, yes, they give.
But think those fairies do gently bless;
Their gifts few do outlive.
Dreaming Danger
Tale Told 