Trumpkin's Autumn Treasure
What has Trumpkin found, and what can he do with it?This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.So bright the birch leaves on my lawn,So soft their drift in weak sun's blaze;A spark of flame on Autumn's breath,Now damping down with faerie glaze.I scuff my boots through pixie tracks(The little gits keep sneaking throughMy lovely lawn, all dew-bejewelled;I wish they wouldn't, but they do).Behold! What's this? A mushroom huge...
