THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE
When winds are noisy-winged and high,
And crystal-clear the day,
Down where the forest meets the sky
The Pinewood People play.
Far off I see them bow, advance,
Swing partners and retreat,
As though some slow, old-fashioned dance
Had claimed their tripping feet.
Or hand to hand they wave, and so,
With dip and bend and swing,
Through "tag" and "hide" and "touch and go"
They flutter, frolicking.
But when I run to join the play,
I find my search is vain.
Always they see me on the way,
And change to pines again.
ELIZABETH THORNTON TURNER.