A sigh, a moan, a whimpered low groan;
As I, on creaking knees that sing off-key
Endure this stoop of wearied bones,
With plaited skin and wisps of hair turned reed.
I bend to earth, a gnarled and wizened tree
In prayerful posture, seeking things that grow,
Unlikely beast, a gnome I surely seem
Festooned in dusty gleam of ancient snow.
Unseen, unsung, I seek what lies below,
Unearthing bits of sun and waning moon.
I conjure wind and breath of long ago
And wreath myself in ancient scent of bloom.
Released, reprieved from weak and fragile shell,
I relinquish earth to dance among the elves.