Garden Folk

Upon lost trails do we weave,

paths unseen beneath the leaves

Do you hear us lightly scamper?

Betwixt the shadows of your lanterns,

Our movements swift, our passions free,

Our kingdoms built among the weeds,

Identity you plead of us,

We of twilight, mote, and dust,

Our lives are not for you to know,

We of spider’s silk and crow,

Now begone lest you offend,

What lies beyond your skills to mend,

We shall linger, ever watchful,

Ever quiet, ever thoughtful

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