To The realms of the positive glow

I am clearly in my dream state
for sleep seemingly, appears
to happen, but before all that
comes story lines and tears
I talk through what seems relevant
and to some extent my fears

underneath my duvet
it seems to be for me
a place to concoct
and recall the
stories instantly

a little gloss of make believe
an eruption, of thoughts
all caught up in faerie land
and all that it supports

elfin glades and places
where little folk oft go
safe in the realms
of tufted toadstool
forests, and the glow

which purifies the faerie folk
as those about here know
cob webbed leggings do abound
and toadstool tufted too
it seems these latest wintry designs
are now on view

in forest glades the glow of evening
and those moonstruck spheres
are all the rage
amongst the faerie folk
so it appears

behold the cauldrons bubbling
filled with the wintry stew
of nuts and seeds and birch sap wine
and pickled flower buds too

and all around their villages
hang peacock feathers and
holly berries and mistle feet
which do look rather grand

The Old man’s beard
climbs through the hedge rows where
masses of it grow
it looks a bit like cotton wool
grey coloured, to and fro
it dances, in December’s windswept vista’s
to be sure
but the human people miss its gallant efforts
to restore

some semblance of floral worth,
they all drive on their way
hardly ever noticing
the floral balls of grey

that float and edge
and dance and sweep
they have no time it seems
they seem to miss
the extraordinary world
of winters salient dreams