Daily Dwarfish Days Guarding by the yellow hedge, a boy at sevens lights a torch. Bent in frustrated gates, the boy merely 7 runs by the futile ledge. His face a tortilla, and toes as onion sticks.. oh the time that waits a while the honoured faeries dancing undergrowth throbbing in the solstice air. Gloom penetrates sunbeams beaming beam. Gone away with the wind we sit and stare at the fuscia glare, whilst the little boy (halfling of a cuter nature) whisks a herbal pancake in a stone bowl. He, giggling at the sunrise mushroom in a pie of grass, at last- the yellow hedge diminishes. Dwarf child cares to share his tea with a passing rabbit.
