an embankment at the edge of the woods

You will not find me beneath the stair
for I have given up my playing there
in favor of vines that toussle my hair.

I am not by my brother's side pinned
for I must, too, from his play rescind
else miss the freedom of the blowing wind.

You find me absent from folded quilts
for I found the strength of ancient silts
where the earth a wall of clay has built.

I play no more in Daddy's colognes
for I, for quiet, the house disown
and prefer now the company of stones.

I am not there, high in the hay loft
for I the pleasure seek something soft
and hay could never compare to moss.

In the chicken coop find not you me
for I the haven of bending trees
have sought and dance there with the fairy king.

Return I not, though desperate your call
for I, by the woods, have been enthralled
and in private joy, have forgotten all.