Wizardry

Grotesquely twisted, gnarled and old
like dwarfs the silver birches crouch on the crest of the hill;
cowering from their enemy the wind
they snarl and curse, and through the winter are afraid.

But I think they were maidens enchanted by a magician—
because when I walked in the spring to-day
on the crest of the hill I found a ballet of virgins
dancing in exquisite purity of movement
to the music of a young wind.

a.