Muse of Truth
by Draconic Spirit

There's a secret in the forest glade
Kept by the Wee Folk, who love to play,
There dwells one with the magic blade
That cuts through iron and through clay.

The secret that she holds dear
Could change the course of time.
In her heart it dwells near
And some would think it a crime.

Her secret is that of words
A swift tongue that can't be silent,
As sharp as well-honed swords
Her words of truth will not be silent.

She is a muse that time has forgotten,
But the Wee Folk have not forgotten.