The Elf Swamp

Beyond the Swamps where witches wait
where bugs buzz by, quick and irate—
within the depths of forest dark
where ragweed and orchid stark
the elves of old live yet on
hidden within each misty dawn—
lo, the folds of gray damask
clear away, the fog, at last,
and docks of birch, of oak, of pine,
covered with flowers and draping vine,
rise from the shade like the flash of a star
rising from yon of a stormy bar.
Here, bustling in silent dell
with gossip to share and wares to sell
the elves of the Swamp come from the glade
and with the mist, will once more fade.