CXLIX: When forced to look around and see what's there

How very much I love it when I’m lost.

Not really lost, mind you. I only say

that if I’m out, proverbially tossed,

and forced to look around—that’s a fine day.

I don’t just mean to dote on nature’s charms,

though true, the brush and meadow has its way.

But all our brutal handiworking warms

my heart in much a stranger way—say—fae.

We are the fae-est faeries, after all—

compared to how the other creatures play.

Our eldritch structures seem to us so small,

but must be magic horrors to our prey.

And something in that strangeness can accost

my whole entire soul when I am lost.