There’s something magic about my house
It rises from a garden with wandering paths
Amid shrines set low to attract tiny feet
Of any wandering fairies
you’d happen to meet.
There’s a witch’s house across the street
You can tell by the garden
It’s wild yet sweet
The witch who lives there
Has snowy white hair
And uses the treats in her garden to snare
And entice you to wander
Into her lair
A magical wood grows just beyond
With talking badgers and immortal hind.
I think that elves slip out at night
To dance in the dark
to fairy lights
An enchanted prince brings me magical stones
To protect my garden
From the woodland’s gnomes
And to trap the mischievous forest elves
That come to my garden to harvest toadstools
That grow overnight under magical trees
I look for them but never quite see,
for I live in Baba Yaga’s house
and perhaps Baba Yaga is me.
This started as a wander, per the d-verse prompt at https://dversepoets.com/2019/05/28/dverse-poetics-on-walking-observing/. But it turned into this.