I’ve never sat with a fairy face to face,
Only twice have glimpsed them
Flying away, their backs darting
Out among the trees at dusk.
But I know where the fairies bury their dead—
Even fairies die after 800 years or so.
I danced a fairy dance one full moon night
Among tall standing stones.
Heard the echo of their dead quietly murmur underground.
Eerie was the music played by fairy children,
Mourning loss of their parents—
Delicate melancholy notes of flutes and violins
Brought me sobbing to my knees.
Their love is different than any love I’ve known,
Displayed an innocence that never fades,
Deserves it’s own theme in song.
You’ll never see them unless you
Walk on nights under quivering stars—
So silently that deer are not startled
As they pass by within arm’s reach.
Wait there under shimmering full moon,
Trembling with delight when you hear the woods
Breathe in every season, a serene vortex
Appears an hour before dawn—
Pale lights encircle farms and meadows.
And if you are blessed by such moments,
You may, perhaps, catch a glimpse as they dance,
Watch virgin fairies prance in luxuriant clothes,
Speak words you’ll never understand.
There in suspended air they live on the edge.
Never will you see them but that they choose—
Reveal themselves without promise
You’ll ever, ever be able to see them again.