Hatchlets & Boglins

Deep in the forest where the fox hides

Amongst the paths now untrod,

Live the Hatchlets and the Boglins;

In winter sleep ‘neath the sod.

 

The Hatchlets sleep in winter slumber

And the Boglins bury deep,

Beetle-faced in their demeanour

They are not oft want to creep

 

About where you and I might dawdle,

Lost in our childhood ways of mind,

The budding Hatchlets wait ’til springtime

And the first melting frost to find

 

Their flitting wakening, with the morn dew

Sparkling; crowned with leafy horns,

Their wings flit lazy in the morn sun

From their eggs now freshly torn.

 

From silken satin velvet bedclothes,

Made from natures finest choice,

Ballgowns made from feathered foxgloves,

Softly ringing angelic voices.

 

The Boglins wallow in their mudholes

Basking in unfettered warmth,

Their skirted armour blackly gleaming

Shrouded proud their entire length.

 

They break forth in sluggish bubbles,

Pulled up from deep within the mire

Upon the bank they dry out, baking,

‘Neath the leafy dappled bower.

 

O’erhead the butterflies flee,

In search of pollen new and sweet,

The droning bees await their riders;

Awakened now, the Hatchling fleet.

 

Regal, serene in their creation,

Their flowered forms and insectile limbs,

Dance a graceful ballet in the sunlight,

Reflecting, luminescent, diamond wings.

 

The Boglins catch their flies for breakfast,

Wolfed down with tiddler stew,

Frogs croak barking their annoyance

At the Boglins plenteous brew.

 

Courtly chivalry not withstanding,

Fae and Sprite play side by side,

The Hatchlets and their equal Boglins

At each disturbance hide.

 

So seek them out in early dawn rise,

Before the light crests the rise of’t hill,

Should you be so lucky as to find one,

Beware, their wish may do you ill.

 

For though innocent in their beauty,

The human fills both with deep mistrust,

Dates back to times of yore; gone,

When in expansion our species crushed

 

Their homes across the forest, ranging

From’t deep south right to the north,

Be sweet my good friend; courteous,

For they belong in whole to this earth.

 

In summer, frolic by the water,

The flowing beck deep through the grove,

The sound of ringing subtle laughter

As new engagements are betrothed.

 

Resplendent in the height of moonlight

The arch of daisies pure as snow,

Starlight glimmers ‘cross the canopy

Effervescent in the universal glow.

 

At last united in loving union

The couples glide their marriage dance,

Lightly skimming ‘cross the waters surface

To watch is to fall in love; entranced.

 

In moonlit briars make their consummation

An act of beautifying grace,

Coruscating unbridled starlight

Reflects their heavenly embrace.

 

And with the seeds of new young sewn fast

To await the dawning of the spring,

The Hatchlets gather in their wild flowers

And the Boglins bring their plentiful offerings;

 

Of food and wine brought for the party,

Greenfly baked in honey sweet,

Wormy spaghetti steeped in toad juice

And roasted, basted, cricket feet.

 

They drink hard of fermented nectar,

Singing ribald in their cups

The Boglins roll across the needled carpet

And now all await the autumnal equinox.

 

In hollowed knots now darkly shaded,

As the rain brings shorter days,

The indian summer lingers; blazoned,

And the faerie folk survey

 

Their bounty from the harvest season,

Acorns packed against the cold.

Eggs laid in cocooned protection,

As they worship ancestors old.

 

And with the arrival of the first snowfall,

Locked in winters cold embrace,

So begins their hibernation,

‘Til wakened with next years spring grace.

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