Steem-Pocalypse Poetry Day 12--Round 2

A Cave of Wonders

In the cave I go,
follow my fancy,
see what it shows.
There I find some dancing
sprites and fairies.
“This cave is ours,
begone, evil one who tarries!”
They shout and throw flowers,
which prick my non-existent skin.
What place is this?
Am I still a ghostly specimen,
or form? I step under a mist
that spreads from a pool.
On my arms (my arms!),
the droplets feel cool.
But the fairies mean harm
and I must run.
It’s not for me, unfortunately.
It would have been fun,
again, to physically be.