The stolen child

I remember falling  as a child

Then being lifted by a fairy-wild

She kissed my cheek and mussed my hair

And then she wasn’t there.

Some blind folk see the faeries clear,

For faeries are always close or near.

Oh, better far than what we see

Are fairy wings that brush our faces


Like spiders’ webs, or shimmering laces.

Such magical, lovely, lonely things.

A rustle in the wind reminds us

A fairy sprite is near.

Shush! Do not scare her

She is full of fear until her night is spent.

Her tears upon the pillow-scent….

The crow she sings her lullaby as harsh as harsh can be

But the golden fairy goddess makes it so lovely for me.


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