Tiny Dancers

The fairy dance is called at last



the winds are all in place



The zephyr's thrill is to the bone



he's set to lead the chase







Sweet fairy girl, she winks and laughs



she hides behind her hands



Her wings are shedding pixy dust



on every spot she lands







Around the lea she's on patrol



lighting lightening bugs



With festive festooned field alight



she fills up acorn mugs







The patterned dance of fairy folk



is fueled by mugs of mead



Made of moon drift honey



and dew from thistle seed







The gentle breeze moans through the reeds



the cattail woodwinds blow



Peepers, crickets and meadow larks



will make the music flow







Mariah came from way out west



to lift the dancers high



In star burst reels and basadons



she helps the patterns fly







The lord and lady of the Faire



preside from thrones above



Titania and Oberon



accept their subjects love







The dancers flair in stardust skies



for this celebration



Rejoicing life beyond reserve



in wild exhilaration







How bright the light this dawning day



in this dew misted green



I stretch and yawn and look around



at this July scene







It's not the same in light of day



as in the land of nod



Still hazy thoughts come dancing back



while laying on the sod







Remembered lights of fireflies



seem to twirl and spin



Surrounding ring of fairy stones



that I awake within







It can't be real 'twas but a dream



to think ought else insane



So how do I explain to me



here tiny cups remain







Richard Higley © June 2011