THE FIND

I took a reed and blew a tune,

And sweet it was and very clear

To be about a little thing

That only few hold dear.

Three times the cuckoo named himself,

But nothing heard him on the hill,

Where I was piping like an elf;

The air was very still.

"Twas all about a little thing

I made a mystery of sound;

I found it in a fairy ring

Upon a fairy mound.