In a glade where twilight lingers,  
Where the air is thick with ancient song,  
A faerie danced on petals bright,  
Her wings aglow in fading light.

She twirled beneath an elder tree,  
Her laughter light, her spirit free,  
When from the shadows, soft and deep,  
A wizard came with secrets sweet.

His beard graying silver, his eyes like flame,  
And with a nod, he spoke her name,  
“Forest Fair, care to share a pipe with me?  
A gift of mortal magic, ’tis fine this pleasant weed.”

He produced forth wit a fine old pipe,  
Tight grained briar touched with gold,  
Its smoke a swirl of colors wild,  
A spell for the wise, a dream for the child.

The faerie smiled, her eyes alight,  
She took the pipe with fingers slight,  
And as she drew that fragrant breath,  
The world around shifted and light withdrew, a quiet theft.

The trees grew tall, their branches spread,  
The stars above turned silver thread,  
But deeper still the air did hum,  
As time itself came undone.

The ground beneath her seemed to sigh,  
The roots below began to cry,  
With every pulse the earth it spoke!  
Of ancient secrets, from long ago.

The faerie’s sight grew sharp, surreal,  
She felt the wind, each whispered thrill,  
And in her heart, a thousand years,  
Became a breath, dispelling fears.

The wizard too, his eyes grew wide,  
As magic wove through land and tide,  
The night forest settled to a gentle song,  
Echoing realms where spirits throng.

And in this moment, the veil grew thin,  
Where life and death entwined within,  
And all that was, and all could be,  
Unraveled in shared reverie.

The trees swayed gently, their branches kind,  
fireflies danced with pixies playful,  
And through the night, a gentle roar,  
The earth then trembled, and from the heavens he soared—

Yes, a dragon came, with shimmering scales purple and green,  
His eyes very wise, his heart serene,  
He circled twice before he softly settled,
And spread his great wings ‘round those who reveled.

“Greetings, friend,” this wizard spoke,  
His voice like wind, his words a cloak,  
The dragon nodded, smoke unfurled,  
His voice a rumble, ancient, swirled.

“I bring you peace, and tales to tell,  
Of lands beyond, of skies vast and rare, 
And in this pipe, a bond we'll weave,  
Of magics deep, where dreams believe.”

The faerie laughed, her spirit bright,  
The wizard’s eyes held quiet might,  
The dragon hummed a tune quite low,  
The midnight forest thrummed and glowed.

Together there, they passed the pipe,  
Their minds a dance, conversations ripe,  
Of spectre hordes, and worlds unseen,  
Of faerie lore and wizards schemes.

The dragon shared his fiery breath,  
A warmth that banished fear of death,  
The faerie sang of moonlit streams,  
The wizard shared more distant dreams.

And as night began to fade,  
The glade returned, no spell displayed,  
Yet in their hearts, their bond was made,  
Of friendship strong, that would not fade.

The faerie kissed the dragon’s brow,  
The wizard bowed, and made solemn vows,  
“To meet again, when stars align,  
And share once more rich smoke’s design.”

The dragon rose, with wings outspread,  
The faerie flew, her laughter led,  
The wizard watched with knowing smile,  
For in their bond, there was no guile.

And so they parted, friends indeed,  
Bound by magic, not by need,  
The pipe a symbol, old and wise,  
Of tales yet told ‘neath magic skies.

Midnight wraiths shared my campfire, 
Waiting for my eyes to close, hoping (I assumed) that I might soon expire.
But I said, “No! I'm a healthy fellow. Pray, share with me your stories.
Mine, I'll share till dawn's sweet stare, if you’ll but do me kind.”
The wraiths replied with epic rhymes, as their kind is wont to do.
And I listened well to their great spells, and then I wove my own.

I spoke of trails and mountain tops and crooks and creags,
And creeks and trees and moss and leaves and pleasant things.
The wraiths hissed, “Yes,” much impressed and bade, “please do continue!”
So on I spoke about Wild Folk, and Little People I call friends,
Until the darkest shade, who had yet to sing, 
Stepped forth into the flames.

His voice was rasp, a dry keep fast, and his story I now shall share,
For his was a sad sweet lament, echoing yet fallow.
He longed for love, forlorn and lost, a heart that once had been,  
But now it beat within the dark, where shadows alone defend.

He spoke of days when he was whole, with skin and bone and breath,  
Of a maiden fair with obsidian hair, who loved him still in death.  
But jealous hands had twisted fate conspiring to rend them apart,  
And now he roams midnight’s veil, a wraith with a hollow heart.

Our fire flared and flickered, ‘cross faces long turned to shade,  
And as he spoke, still more wraiths drew near, engrossed and unafraid.  
For his raspy words held common truths, a sorrow they all might share,  
The pain of love that time forgot, a grief they never dared.

He told of nights ‘neath living stars, where once he held her near,  
Of whispered vows and gentle sighs that now were lost to fear.  
And as our fire’s light burned low, his voice began to fade,  
A ghostly echo of the past, a love he could not save.

The wraiths ‘round our embers sighed, a chorus soft and low,  
And in their eyes, I saw their tears that long had ceased to flow.  
For they too knew the bitter ache of love that time had torn,  
And in the darkest hours of our night, they mourned what they had worn.

I felt their pain, their longing deep, and in my heart, I swore,  
I’d carry forth their tales of woe, to let their voices soar.  
So in early dawn’s first gentle light, I bade them all goodbye,  
And as the wraiths slipped to mist, I felt their silent cries.

But in their place, a peace remained, a gift of memories past,  
And as I walked the morning’s path, I knew their stories would always last.  
For every step upon the trail, each whisper in the trees,  
Would carry forth the wraiths’ lament, upon each autumn’s breeze.

And so I wander still today, ‘neath Brother Sun and Mother Moon,  
With tales of wraiths and love’s lament woven upon life's bitter loom.  
For in the heart of every night, where shadows softly tread,  
There lies the wraiths’ sweet rhymes and songs, and all the love they lived.

I traded with the goblin a piece of string and a shiny thing for his fine walking stick,  
He thought it grand that I'd offer my hand so we shook to seal the deal.  
But as I grasped his twisted claw, I felt a shift, a subtle flaw,  
For in his grin, a secret lay, a trick beneath twilight’s sway.

His eyes, like embers, flickered bright, a shadow’s dance in fading light,  
He chuckled low, a gravelly sound, as twilight’s veil wrapped us ‘round.  
“This stick’s no simple branch,” said he, “It bears the weight of mystery,  
And as you’ve claimed it so, its path shall lead where few dare go.”

I felt the stick grow warm in hand, a pulsing heartbeat from the land,  
The goblin’s laugh, a haunting ring, echoed through the singing trees.  
But onward still, I took my stride, with goblin’s gift and moon as guide,  
For what lay ahead, I could not see, yet the night was full of destiny.

The forest deepened, shadows curled, where ancient roots and dreams unfurled,  
And in the dark, a door appeared, a gate to realms both far and near.  
This gnarled stick, with power old, began to glow, a light of gold,  
It drew me forth, whisper’n sweet, to where our earth and heavens meet.

I stepped beyond this mortal veil, into a world where legends sail,  
Where goblin trades and faerie songs entwine the night, and I belong.  
The goblin’s laugh still lingered there, but in my heart, I had no care,  
For in my grasp, this walking stick, a key to places magics-thick.

So now I wander paths unknown, with stick in hand upon seeds of stone,  
Through lands where only dreams have tread, ‘neath skies of stars long long dead.  
And if you meet that goblin sly, with eyes that gleam and his crooked smile,  
Remember well the deal you make, for what you give, he remakes.

In our world, the line is thin, ‘tween our whimsy and our sin,  
And every trade, though light it seems, may bind you to another’s schemes.  
Yet still I walk, my heart is light, ‘neath the cloak of endless night,  
A goblin’s stick, my guide and friend, till at last, my journey’s ends.

In shadowed corners of my mind, a hob takes his place,
Tinkering and toiling in his hidden secret space.
Pipe smoke curls, writhing ghosts fill the gloom,
Bare feet tapping as he rocks like a loon.
Flickering light dances, dripping waxy candlelight,
He’s scheming and he’s plotting as he whispers to his loom.
His eyes smiling, his wee knives sharp—
Night child, what dreams will you start?