Fox gloves

A dryad I knew
Who enjoyed morning dew
She washed in its coolness
And had taken the view
That she could see further
From her wooded realm
Where a woodpecker friend
Often did overwhelm

Her and some others
Who supposedly
Gave fox gloves to foxes
You see, They magically
Became a feature
In hen houses they
That’s the foxes
Could tentatively
Enter
They say
But more and more studies
Convince me that foxes
Are never invisible
The flowers though might be
Glove like in order
To attract the Bee
Who falls into their lair
And pollen then coats
His tiny hairs
Pollination one notes

It’s what life’s about
In the great wooded sphere
dryads come hither
And wither with fear
Drinking birch wine for supper
And a strong puff ball tea
In the land of the fey
Where we all love to be.