It's all in the trick of the tale


I felt her presence beneath the trees, and in one look

I saw the spectral figure with the burning book,


Telling tales, of wolves, and kings,

And of butterflies, and rings


She spoke of ancient times, and a penny black queen

Of speckled eggs and things I had never seen


Of Marmite, skulls and fallen leaves

There were magic snails and the silver trails they weave


An agate acorn, and love and hate

Of Celtic torcs and magic gates


Then I noticed she said these things without a sound

And that her feet had left the ground


And as she rose before the break of day

With a winter owl leading the way


I heard it cry; “It’s all a trick of the tale.”