Place of Lore

By: Isabel Nee

Down the winding path I stroll, through woods dark
And deep, where mystery and magic roam.
A swift stream runs here; high above, a lark
Sings sweet and clear, in a voice that calls “home.”
Onwards, a low growl comes from some deep cave
Hemmed in by rocks, shrouded in mist and steam.
I pass on my way; others think me brave
To pass by as dragons stare with eyes keen.
But this place here is no danger to me:
Though many legends run, fly, swim, walk here
In forests that echo with neighs and shrees
From unicorn and griffin, both so dear
To me I long to stay yet awhile more,
But others call me from my book of lore.