A fairy-feller hides in emerald shades
While feathered faces dance the perfect dance
Evading hope in pale, despondent glades
Where shadows stumble on a wild mischance:
And all of this beyond the edge of sleep
Where dreamers kill the things they care to keep.
A wedge of futuristic steel observes
And coolly calibrates this elfin scene
Kissed by a savage sun along its curve,
No form more dread than this has ever been:
It brings the future and the end of days
To wayward dreams and errant human ways.
Who knows if at some cold and vast remove
The wedge will raise again these faerie lands
Within its clouded circuits? Dreaming groves
Of rusting trees where still the gnomon stands:
Where robot birds hail corrugated skies
And elves of chrome kiss iron butterflies.