The Wood Nymph's Frolic

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  • Fantasy

    Poem Commentary

    We need more fairytales in our lives.

    The Wood Nymph's Frolic


    Some moonlight star struck night follow that silver thread of gleaming light.
    Through the forest glades and damp meadows ever onward to the looming shadows above.
    The night air carries only the soft aromas of the swaying Spruce and Pine.
    Amid the blanket of darkness I can hear them whispering gently of a silent passerby.

    Soon the closeness of the forest begins to fade behind my steady stride.
    As a lowland valley takes shape in the increasing glow of mother moon.
    Somewhere up ahead some night bird sends forth a solitary lonely cry beckoning for companionship.
    As the evening breezes subside faint rustlings begin around me as the life of the fields emerge.

    Something keeps drawing my attention coming from the highlands above.
    Laughter,that unmistakable joyous sound of glee.
    My heart begins to race as anticipation ebbs through my quivering body.
    I slow my pace noticing for the first time how warm the air has suddenly become.
    Whats come over me I seem as a child at the dawning of Christmas mourn.

    The upward climb begins to level out and a plateau rises before me.
    Kneeling just inside the tree line my gaze falls upon several young women dressed in shimmering gossamer.
    The flowing iridescent veils twirl along their waists as they dance among millions of fireflies.
    Such beauty needs no description words do not exist to fill one's mouth.

    For generations elders have sat on porches or in parlors telling glorious tales of the wood nymph.
    Those keepers of the forests and upland meadows fair.
    Here as I live and breathe those marvelous creatures frolic before my watery eyes.
    In all my enthused joy I fail to notice the very wood of these surrounding conifers creaking.
    As if wind blown yet not a breath of air moved.

    Sadly there warning caught my ear to late for as quickly as they had appeared they departed.
    My emotions must have affected me for I swear the forest seemingly swallowed them completely.
    Even the fireflies eluded to shut off lights.
    I travel homeward carrying a fire side tale for my children and one that will grow in exuberance.
    For these wonderful years to come............
     






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    crimsondragon commented on The Wood Nymph's Frolic

    10-30-2009

    The heart can see what the eye can not.The soul even more,and you my friend have the soul of a dreamer.I m happy to be back on this site because of works like the.I give it a 10

    lucky62

    10/30/2009

    glad you are back with us glad you liked it holler at you in the room.....

    koolmom0 commented on The Wood Nymph's Frolic

    10-25-2009

    Lucky this is beautiful. I enjoyed reading it very much. Koolmom

    lucky62

    10/27/2009

    Thanks mom0 glad you enjoyed this little frolic through the wet grass......

    shortie13086 commented on The Wood Nymph's Frolic

    10-22-2009

    WOW i love how colorful this is! Great mental images thru words!! Cant wait to read more

    lucky62

    10/22/2009

    thanks darlin you rock also even though I wetted myself.....

    FindingJune commented on The Wood Nymph's Frolic

    10-22-2009

    This is very well written. This sort of poem isn't typically my cup of tea, but I enjoyed this very much Lucky. Nicely done.

    lucky62

    10/22/2009

    I'm awful glad you likes it FJ I have a little grammar trouble in a couple of places but it's still fairly good.

    blanket commented on The Wood Nymph's Frolic

    10-22-2009

    Well, a few errors I must point out (because that is what I do) you can edit once you're out of the contest....aroma's should not have apostrophe ....same with waist's...no apostrophe ....Sadly there warning caught my ear to late for as

    lucky62

    10/22/2009

    good eye girl it was intentional though for the pause effect...

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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