I should have been abed

A gentle hush upon the spoken grasses,
The moon stirs with a greedy glare,
No bell to toll the hour of night,
No broken glass to cut my feet.

I call to those within forest’s bower,
This is the time!
This very hour in which each moment crawls,
Come forth!

No creatures venture forth from this wooded darkness,
No one but I stand in the field under mooned light.

A gentle hush upon the spoken grasses,
I turn to detail with my eyes this breathed sigh,
A simple form upon the edge of root,
A baby swathed in cloth,
Cloth woven of leaves and moss.

There was but a moment,
Between this child and I,
A silence understood,
And then he laughed.

This baby sat upon that root,
Laughing gently to himself in leaf and moss,
And I lost.
My thoughts cloven into wonder and delight.

For I head a gentle flutter above my head,
I heard the soft pitter pat of tiny feet below,
And though all I could see was this child and his laughter,
My ears told me of a different field.

I heard that night the running wiles,
Clever smiles birthed of a baby’s laugh,
Though to my eyes I stood alone in that field of wheat and rye,
My ears marveled at the beauty of the midnight dance upon the Faerie’s Path.