In the clearing of the glen, when the moon is shining full
The silent trees make refuge in the quiet summer dark
Fireflies go flickering through the undergrowth
And light the forest glen with their erratic yellow sparks
As the pale moon waxes high above the shadows take their form
And the little sprites of midnight come to be
Dancing through the thicket making worship to the moon
Swirling magic through the darkness in their nightly revelry
No man has ever caught a sight or even heard a note
Of the dulcet minuet that is the ritual of the nymphs
If you stray these glades at midnight though be wary for they say
You are stuck for all eternity if you merely catch a glimpse
