Its strings tended by little elves.
They say there are dragons here,
But I only see snakes,
Following in their shadow.
Their fangs are solid gold,
As they hiss their forewarned glory.
Tiny caterpillars I have seen,
Chewing at scaly corners,
Then crawling back to the dusted drawstrings,
Tightening purple pockets at elvan waists.
This night I am entranced by,
For not a single star glitters or moves,
And sweet honey nectar drips down,
From a golden quarter moon.
There can be nothing of mine here,
And yet it is all.
