The elves in my head give me nothing but dread
when they pound their wee hammers in frolicsome knells
upon their brass gongs. They beat drums made of lead
and subject me to torments of ten thousand hells
'til I wave my white flag and retreat into bed.
Then the songs of their noise start to conjure up spells.
Gossamer faeries spring up from the deep.
and dance all night long with the elves while I sleep.
--April 8, 2013
Prompt: Ottava rima--an eight-line poem with a rhyme scheme of ab ab ab cc. Traditionally it's supposed to be in iambic pentameter, but I had trouble enough with the rhymes!