Sweet the wind
With fragrant sweet clover
That ripples the green
Forwards and over

Echos the field
A sweet reeded pipe
Blown from cheeks
Furry and ripe

Lean form in the grass
Half goat and half man
Slumbers here deeply
The god called Pan

His great pipes by his side
His empty horn in his hand
He dreams of round nymphs
And of roaming the land

His ancient hooves nestle
Amongst the clover and green
While the wee folk watch on
From their places unseen

They watch with still patience
For their goat king to rise
For the wee folk delight
In mirth and surprise!



By: Greg Currie
May 28, 2000