Troll
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It hides in a forest of keys,
typing words that sink into my soil.
I'd feed it mushrooms,
If it only showed its face.
Hidden warts
and claws,
behind white light
You probably have many friends
And don't want to be bothered
By a friend of friends
Who you may not know well.
Well, if you want to see
The finest side of me,
Which warms like sunlights
I speak to the dead,
After I have wasted three and ninety lockpicks
Just to get a potato out of a long forgotten box.
How is it not rotten?
I really need to get to Whiterun but
Lydia blocks me in the hallway.
