Two kind blue pools upon a hill
Have put me in a trance
And lure me near with friendly words
That from below them dance

A closer view entails a price
Marvelous yet dire
The hill purloins possessions that
One vitally requires

I dare to venture nearer still
To confront this lovely theft
The state in which I find my hill
Though leaves me quite bereft

A shroud of wintry fog has veiled
His coaxing countenance
I long to know what she has done
That does the hill so entrance

Oh woe. The fog Becomes him and
I fear she's here to stay
But prisoner of his terrible charm
I helplessly remain

Until the spring when she does clear
I wait with anxious mood
Until the spring if she does clear
I wait in solitude