Fairies

Like, here's a poem.

Fairies

The night you painted fairies step

Across the withered grass

Where pale moonlight falls, but slips

And licks the blades to glass

Whisper not, but light and quick

Feet never brush a sound

Wreathed in only a shining star

Behind your tiny crown

Where do you winged pixies play?

Where are your rings of fire?

Ringlets drip across the brooks

And circles wrung through briar

Fields are swayed and pulled amiss

Trees often lose their fruit

Sands are scattered with pebbles and stone

While gardens you twist out of suit

Yet never are you found by eyes

Nor ever felt or heard

Yet always you are there to see

And speaking without words

TIP: Have a little fun sometimes.