I was once a curious child, before I knew how to be a man. When I needed mother to hold my hand. The many things I wished I could see, they all seemed surreal to me. One thing I now know may not have been so. For as a young one I once did meet a tiny folk. I left my mother’s side for just a second, to look at a frog. He was a small one you see. And in my youth I did find small things to be most divine. I thought I’d be quick, I thought I would have time. My mother dear, bless her soul would often forget that I was there. She would walk without me for yards and yards. Then suddenly she’d double back. I would hear her call to me. Then we would go home in time for tea. This time it was different, this time with the frog. I was with it for hours, waiting for her call. But I could hear nothing at all. It started to get dark, but I was not afraid. I remembered stories of creatures brave. They were small and never gave one little smile. I heard they ate children once in a while. I knew that could not be true. Someone was telling a lie or two. Before I could sit and think of my chances a tiny person came at me wielding two lances. He didn’t come with aggravation, he looked as though in frustration. The next bit was the most bizarre, he made me fly afar. From my lonely home of a few long hours, to my mother’s arms, greatly dowered. He did this with the touch of his hand, how I don’t know. This encounter was brief, I wish it were longer. I hope to see more of him each time I do wander.