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 still live what others have
forgotten.
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