If you enter through 

The rusty back gate

Messily labeled 105 and

Walk thirty steps to your right,

You will come across

A beaten path

Overgrown with forgotten weeds

And the remnant leaves of autumn.

But twenty steps into the forest,

A maple tree stands alone amongst thorny bushes.

And if you stray here from the path

Fifty-eight steps through the branches,

Listen closely.

For you can hear the hinges

Of a small wooden door

Leading to the home of an elf

Where she returns from her gathering,

Bakes acorn-pie,

And uses buttons to set the table.

If you stay silent

Little pixies

With insect-like wings–

Some with the wings of a bee

Or wings of the teal dragonfly–

Flutter between leaves,

Collecting soft foliage

To sew clothing 

In their homes within the trees.

Keep your eyes peeled,

And you may see a gnome

Walking up a hill in the distance

Peeking under logs and bushes

Searching for his squirrel companion.

Then you blink,

And they are gone.