Music filtered through the forest -- and the
Little Folk were gone!





The Street Player

The shopping had been tedious, and
the rain
Came pelting down as she turned home
again.

The motor-bus swirled past with rush and
whirr,
Nought but its fumes of petrol left for
her.

The bloaters in her basket, and the cheese
Malodorously mixed themselves with
these.

And all seemed wrong. The world was
drab and grey
As the slow minutes wept themselves
away.

And then, athwart the noises of the street,
A violin flung out an Irish air.