Some say this is not the immemorial age
Of fantasy; no wisps of smoke, no ivory turrets,
No crabbéd dwarf, no lumbering troll.
Beneath their bridge the faerie light is dark
The inexplicable explained, if only outwardly.
The crabbéd dwarf still walks by my mental elven bridge
Where waits the troll, Ein pfennig, ein pfennig,
Still laughs the gnome, ein pfennig, ein pfennig,
Still wisps the smoke around the bone white turrets
Some live what others have forgotten.
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