The Wee Folk of the Wishing Well

So you see, so you see,
So they say, so they say,
What happens at the crossroads in the twilight
In the gloaming
Can you see? Can you see?
Dare you say? Dare you say?
What you saw? Whom you met?
At the crossroads in the twilight
On a warm autumnal evening…

(Follow the stairs down the side of the hill,
Follow the path twixt the ivy-hung trees,
Follow the spit alongside of the Sound,
Follow us into the mossy green haunting…)

Find the place past the troll’s bridge,
Where the cloverleaf ramps thrive
In the brambled, ivied hills,
To the wheel-spoke splay
Where the roads cross thrice.

At the twilight there, in the gloaming,
The light shines upon the path
To the wishing well.
The path is only there on odd nights
When the worlds align
In the twilight, in the gloaming.

Find the well, the wishing well,
Amongst the trembling aspens
The well where they drop down wishes
Like coins upon our heads:
Send a babe, turn a head, spark a love, play a game;
Drop a lure, catch a look, act the muse, stop a pain.
We polish up the wishes they drop
Like coins upon our heads,
Shine them up till bright they gleam,
And then we send them back,
Wishes granted, though perhaps
Not quite as they would think
In the twilight, in the gloaming

Those well-wishers rarely give us thanks
But still we grant the wishes that fall
Like coins upon our heads,
Cos that’s what well-wishing’s for.