The angry pixie
the portal past, with jaunty steps
upon the verdant sward I did advance,
‘neath birded canopy thro’ flower’d glade
until at last a figure barred my way.
the angry pixie stood and glared
his face set in a rictus of distaste
“halt, who goes there?” and “thou shall not pass
unless thou giv’st me what I ask”
“I am a lowly traveller, see,
why halt me in my tracks
when I have nought to interest thee”.
“Aha, my sweet, that’s where thee’s wrong,
unless I’m mistaken thee’ll not be here long.
No-one passes here save a forfeit pays.”
I fumbled in my bag,
what could I give the little devil
and thus enable me to continue on my way?
a map? no, this little man knew well his own demesne
a pair of spectacles? he sees where I do not.
At length, my hand did chance upon some thing,
or things – to be precise -
small, hard, of crescents shaped, patterns deep engrained.
I pulled them out,
a sudden light from dark brought forth,
their glow the scene illuming.
My hand upheld, the seeds my palm did chill
their frigid light dark shadows cast.
Snatched from my palm,
the angry pixie sniffed and shook them,
stared hard as if their engrained lines could read.
“these are moon seeds,
their worth is ransome to your passage.
begone, yon path to Baba Yaga’s leads”.
No sooner said than done,
of the angry pixie no further sight had I,
so set my foot ‘pon pebbled track,
my pouch again held tight
tucked deep within my folded cloak.