Here's an older one of mine  

The Lady of Westing Hill

-I-

In the forests of Westing Hill
Lives a woman of beauty;
Her raven black tresses fall
Past her knees, and her eyes are midnight blue.

-II-
With a voice that rivals the angels
But whose songs are like none known;
For the Lady is not like us
She sings to the shadows and moon.

-III-
The mists that roll through the forest
Are said to belong to her;
And the whispers upon the wind –
Tiny faeries that come to meet.

-IV-
On the Summer’s Eve, her holiday
The forest comes alive with light!
No earthly light shines past low branches
‘Tis magic glowing fierce!

-V-
The Lady Of Westing Hill sits
Upon her thrown of the Great Oak tree;
She sings her lullabies to the beast
That hunts beneath the silver moon.

-VI-
She offers porcelain cups
Of milk and honey to the Tiny Folk
Laughing as they tell their tales
Of traveling through the mysterious.

-VII-
‘Tho should you crest the hill
Venture past the darkest of tress;
No magic will you find there –
Only a woman, living alone.

Joann Renee' Muszynski 9/7/00