Air in my lungs, once alive, now just woe,

This dull life drains, a grey sunset greets me,

Betwixt the oaks, ring o’ mushrooms aglow,

It’s beckoning me near, no time to flee,

I swear, I can feel the Spanish moss’s stares,

Leaves curled like a beard, glowing eyes appear;

“Would you like to leave?”, a deep voice declares,

Guarding the fairy ring, his face brings fear,

“Don’t panic, mortal. ‘Tis I, Père Malfait”,

Arms come from the trees, grasping and twisting,

Père taps the soil thrice, ‘shrooms form a doorway,

Lights and sounds from below, “Stop resisting.”

World of fae, tempting and sweet like a plum,

Strange door shut tightly, might the monsters come.