The Lost Forest

I walked with my mother Where the tall trees grow, And she showed me tiny tables Where the elves sit in a row, And the bells that ring to call them When the night winds blow.

There were small frosted toadstools, And little cups of wine. And velvet banks to rest on Where moss grew thick and fine, And a smooth brown ring for dancing Underneath a pine.

But now when I go walking All the way is clear; The little bells are silent And the moss grown sere, And I know that in the moonlight Not an elf comes near.