The Little People

 
There was a struggle in the air
retreating night and eager dawn
grey white mists at half passed four
muffling the friendly battle,
tonight the fight will be reversed
without the use of fog.
They do this every day I call
say not a word swirling in the mist.
We all come out to see, elves
in pointed caps grab my hands
pull at my coat and make me dance
steal my clothes until I am as them,
uncumbered, naked as intended.
We dance about the wood
through bramble nettle-sting and thorn
unharmed by nature's barbs
until  morning mists disperse
and I see me as I am.
Where is my coat, I must go home
but the keys are in my pocket,
there are no fig-leaves in this copse;
yet why must I go home?
Come with us I hear them say
live a life of berries, mosses for a pillow
we will knit a coat for you
as warm as you shall need
shoes of silver birch.
I look back along the twisted path
unsure of what to do,
your choice, they say, you come here every day
so why not stay, yes why should I not ?