The Grove

Some hidden place on earth,
Yet close enough to find, 
There is a little grove, 
Untouched by all mankind. 

Some say there are fairies,
Or gnomes and trolls and such,
While others say the trees,
Can speak and laugh and touch.

What fun goes on inside
This clever, blissful place,
What magic you can sense,
But somehow cannot trace!

Sometimes you can hear noise, 
Just floating with the breeze,
Like tiny little voices,
Or chuckles from the leaves.

They must play many games,
And sing a thousand songs,
With notes yet undiscovered,
With hearts that hum along. 

At night the sky lights up,
With sparks that rise and glow,
I’ve always said the elves,
Are smoking down below.

And oh, the grove gets quiet,
Sometime before the dawn,
Because the little creatures,
Will dream and sleep and yawn. 

What nonsense you might think,
And true, that may be so,
But no one’s ever been there, 
So really, who can know? 

A Poem
by Hannah Linder