Peter Sinfield The Piper
Beneath the tinsel twilight skies
A changeling child with cinnamon eyes
Wends his way to a secret glade
and plays his pipe in a serenade.
In and out of the spectral trees
Between the starlight burnished leaves,
He strolls the speckled toadstool way
to join th elfin court in play.
The brown owl hoots upon the oak
The foxes howl and the green frogs croak
As through the wood to a marvelous moon
He blows the notes of an elfin tune.
Towards the moss-weed bridge he goes
Where burble-pebble water flows,
Across the meadow up the hill
And on the wind I hear him still . . .
