Richard Allen Beevor
Over blue expanse of purple fields
travelling toward night,
behind hidden hills elves sang
and drank from cups of silver light.
Passing strange lands of ancient creatures
where trees are pink,
with leaves of dried dust,
yonder elves sit with silver cups to drink.
Sitting to rest on a white trellis fence
made of cheese and lime,
an owl screeched in the distance
at such unholy time.
Peace in lea and meadow,
quite calm the night and still,
elves sit and drink from silver cups
somewhere over the hill.
So I must go up chocolate lanes,
along marzipan roads,
as oranges twinkle in the sky
and lemons lift their loads.
Still mysterious elves sit
and drink from silver cups.
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