A Lonely Nymph

A lonely Nymph, sits by the stream,
Preening its wings, in this my dream.
Scantily clad, not as big as an Elf.
A small group of them wander about.
I hear their voices as they run and shout.
It's a beautiful vision, that I now see.
My mind wonders if they can see me.
The innocent joy in this gaggle or group
Should be on my front stoop.
The questions I have for you, young and old,
Where do you go when the weather is cold?
Do you have houses, back in the trees?
With warmth, food and water that will appease
Your continued existence on this Earth so grand,
That has much grass and some warming sand.
I hope that the imagination, that does appear,
Will return again on the following year.
If not that will sadden this old man
Who still clings to the life as it began.