In mountain meadows, bleating sheep abound, and green grass grows as high as their hunger allows -- about as high as cricket grounds, but I am lost in fantastic wonder. It seems to me this is a storied land, not merely grazing space, but where dragons once flew, and one might see giants, firsthand -- a place that's never known a plow 'r wagons. It's where magic must once have arisen, if ever such a place had existed -- where sparkling streams still burble and glisten whose secret is kept ever tightfisted. If you stumble into this storied realm don't let its siren sight overwhelm.
Storied Lands [Sonnet / Idyll]
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