before the dawn of man did come,
an age of mist and magic thrived,
where the small creatures would run,
are long lost,never to be revived,

a time where the fairies flew,
the gnomes in homes of the trunks of trees,
the elves sing all the songs they knew,
and the sound would carry on a gentle breeze,

the forest would be alive with song,
and the creatures would dance,
drinking elderberry wine potent and strong,
a filled the glades with laughs and chants,

the gnomes all dance around their fire,
watching the sparks rise to the sky,
fairies fly around while one plays the lyer,
all is welcome even passers-by,

the dew falls gently to the leaves,
and the moon shines down,
brightening all the happy festivities,
giving light to those on the ground,

the imps under their toadstool homes,
step out and beat their drums,
joining in with the singing gnomes,
and of in a distance a cricket hums,

the animals come out to see the sight,
they dance along under a moon so bright,
happy and free,no worries,no fright,
to join in the mythical fun this night.

a long ago time, forgotten long ago,
creatures we will not know their names,
their joy and their song we will never know,
the loss of their living,it seems such a shame,

but next time you are out in the forest at night,
listen close and be keen in your sight,
you may just see a fires flickering light,
of the tiny ones festival on a mythical night,