The Fairies

The Fairies

Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a hunting for fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk, trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap, and white owl's feather.

Down along the rocky shore, some make their home;
They live on crispy pancakes of yellow tide foam.
Some in the reeds of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs, all night awake.
By the craggy hillside, through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees for pleasure, here and there.
If any man so daring as dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns in his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting for fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk, trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap, and white owl's feather.

William Allingham

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Deep Within The Winter Forest

Deep within the Winter Forest among the snow drifts so wide,

You can find a magic place where little fairies hide.

Summer Fairies, Spring Fairies, and Fairies of the Fall,

Winter Fairies in the night are my favorite of them all.

Fell the fairy wings brush gently against your face,

ok I just knew there are fairies in this magical place.

Starlight and moonlight, upon drifted snow they lie,

Did you see it? Did you see it? A fairy just flew by!

Their ws are like a whisper, moonbeams in their hair,

They've melted their magic follydust upon the trees so bare.

Are those the magic fairy wands glistening on the trees?

or only winter's icicles upon the branches that I see?

The once cooling water of the lake, remember sitting on its shore?

Now the fairies have created a crystal ice dance floor.

The Winter Fairies are dancing, this much I do know.

Just feel the winter magic, it's not just falling snow.

Open the gate of imagination, allow your mind to fly,

And in the Winter Forest you'll see fairies fluttering by.

Author Unknown

I make my home where the streetlight glows pink,
And I'll bet that's where you make yours;
Where the grass and the trees count on sprinklers to drink,
And there's not too much room between doors.

Wee folk aren't seen much here, it's true,
But the fact is they've always been shy,
And they can be found if you know what to do
And just where to look low and high.

Now the median fairy makes up his fine home
In the shrubs of the highway divide,
Using only the finest of car parts and stones;
The shiny bits give him much pride.

So now you know where the wee folk live today;
They sneak round right under your nose.
But you can still find them and watch them at play
Near you, where the pink street light glows.

The spirits of fire and air live up high;
In the smokestacks and chimneys they dwell.

These small elementals look like sparks that fly
And dance in a merry pell-mell.

The tree spirits live within every back yard
And make mischief stopping up drains,
And sing with the wind like the finest of bards
To join the drumbeat of the rain.

And the gnomes have always loved passages deep
So the storm drains are their homes of late

And they play with the balls dropped to them from the street
And howl at the moon through the grate.

Paul

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