The secret hills
covert with fog,
so far away and blurry
but as real as real can be.
In the light of the rising sun,
I can see dwarfs running,
trough the fertile meadows,
feet barely touching the ground
The wind brings the sound
of the heavenly singing
of the beautiful elves,
to my unworthy ears.
Knowing I shouldn’t be here,
my presence unwelcome
I turn around, and say goodbye,
to this fabulous world of dreams.