Pixies

 There was a glow deep in the green wood,
which cast no shadow on the pines and birches,
green  figures on my watch hands combined at midnight.
This was a witching hour.
Lost, although I knew the wood but only when the sun shone.
It was dark outside the circle, they sat all in green and silent
the dog close by my shins pressed close, afraid.
Dusk came so soon this night the evening air earthy
smells of blackthorn and mull, that make a wood at midnight.
I had not eaten save one last mushroom, the like of which the pixies sat.

My problems now dispersed or so I thought, removed my hat,
took my place within the circle bowing to the elf in green.
We waited for the moon, the air was cold, the fire
burning with a cold green light, the logs not consumed.
Bound in daisy chains, they took my clothes,
laughing at my manly pride they had no need of such
they were of dreams, fairy castles, gothic tales
from ages passed, read in childrens’  books.
I shook the daisy chains, laughter from the pixies,
and scowling elf.ceased my struggles.

I had stayed too late, they said.
disturbed the fox and rabbit standing by with the badger
and a crow dressed all in black.
Condemned to walk the streets without my clothes or shoes,
until the sun was down another day.
Then, as soon were gone, glow-worms in their pockets.
The night, chill and clear my mossy pillow damp and cold,
the dog,hackles stiff and black, stood sentinel at my feet;
A muntjac barked against the moon which, hanged like a skull
lit my way to the kissing-gate, as the parish clock tolled twelve.