The next approaches the podium, bowing left and right
to the cream of Faerie royalty, gathered on this night.
“I hope my modest effort does not spoil this heady dance.”
Facing those assembled, he assumes a proclaimer’s stance.
Gathered apples, pressed to cider, we raise a glass to all;
’tis sweet Autumn’s amber nectar, the true drink of the fall.
Small dust devils, sharp and quick, dance to a Virginia Reel;
then grab their partners, shy red leaves, as round the floor they wheel.
Faeries giggle with delight at seeing them spinning so
and clasping hands, they circle all, adding a golden glow.
This way they play till break of day; rude morning spoils their fun,
puzzled at scenes of golden wheels and red leaves on the run.
But be not sad if you have missed this entertainment night,
they will be back again, my friend, all glowing just as bright.
With a small quiet smile, setting sun at the end of day,
he steps back but a single step, then slowly fades away.