They don’t believe in fairies,
Those old folk wide and staid,
They’ve never caught the glitter
Of their wings in forest shade.
For them the bush is just a place
Of timber, cows and corn,
They’ve never been up our creek
On a cool November morn.
From mossy banks all dotted
With violets breaking through,
Beneath the frondled maidenhair
Their shy eyes peep at you.
They sleep ‘neath tasselled tea-trees,
The drowsy summer day,
Where the tiny crimson love-birds
Around them dart and play.
The dew-drenched nights of Summer,
When gum-trees are aflower,
In foamy waves of sweetness
Bring round the fairies’ hour.
This is the time of frolic,
When they go floating high,
On wispy shreds of river mist,
Across the shining sky.
What! Don’t believe in fairies!
When they’re round you everywhere!
See them- who needs to see them?
You simply know they’re there.
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Comments
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GREAT
I really like that poem. -
Delightful!
Lines 25 to 28 say it all!
Pity those folk who have never had or who have lost their belief in 'the little people' for, if there is no magic in their hearts, neither is there joy.
This is delightfully written in a 'skippy' trimeter evocative of fairies dancing in a ring (around a large toadstool?) -
I love fairies.... this was a wonderful write, though it seemed to have a deeper meaning. There are some people who don't bother to look to see things that ARE there... they just simply say such things aren't there, or don't exists, like those people who still don't believe that there was a Holocaust. Wonderful write. This woman was full of talent...
Kate
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laughs I love this... mainly because it's about fairies but still. I love it.
I have to read more from her.
*~OD~*
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