The wind blows through the glen
voices carried on the wind
Of good/bad choice we can't mend
Where the fairy folk are ken
Gnarled and knotted in the sleepy glen
Quick sharp tongues of ice
Slicing through squeaks of mice
Chattering squirrels, patridge, hen
Hear the voices of the little men
Goblin, goblin, Goblin Coombe
Eating the turkey oak
By the light of the moon
Smoking bark
And evergreen den
Far in the milky dark
Of Goblin Coombe again
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