The Fair Folk

Light flickers through the trees,

And filters amongst the leaves,

Like little fair folk

Casting spells like glitter,

And floating with the wind.

They make their home,

Twixt the roots;

The newest shoots

Saying, 'someone's moved in'.

They ride on delicate butterflies —

Perhaps that is why

The storytellers of old

Thought they could fly.

Fly amidst the flowers,

And over the fields;

It's their magic in the mist

Making the greenery yield.

Then, at daybreak,

Before most are yet awake,

It is not the dew droplets,

Which twinkle of a morn;

But rather a fairy-child,

Too newly born,

To know to hide

From the giants overhead.

But the instinct comes quickly;

By the time you look twice,

They've already fled.

The knowledge they're there,

It should suffice,

To say, 'mostly nice — sweet,

with a sprinkling of spice'.

And still the faith lasts:

Be warned; the spell is yet cast.

And we know in our hearts,

While our mind tries to reason,

The reasons and answers

To all of life's seasons,

That a child is really

The one seeing most clearly

The fairies which flicker,

Amongst light in the leaves.

The little folk who flutter,

As the air gently breathes.

When you look around in nature, do you notice the magic? Is there a part of you that looks twice in the hope to little fairies in the hedge? Let me know @lilijanewriter