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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #1258542
A rhyming poem about a person observing and describing a faerie (fairy)
You toss your small head that holds delicate eyes,
shining with mischeif and mirth.
you are small and beautiful, with falling gold curls,
and pointed ears not of this earth.

You rest with a faerie friend in a petaled flower,
and dangle your small white feet, over the edge,
and laugh and whisper for many an hour.
When the moon shines bright, and the path is starlit,
then you flutter your delicate silvery wings,
and away you fly, with head held high,
and trailing behind you your cloak and robes of scarlet.

And away you fly with head held high, under the bright, bright moon.
You hold up your shimmering, scarlet skirts with little white hands.
A clearing green in a magical forest is where you land.
And you patiently wait, for the others late,
who will arrive soon.

And you gather round in a faerie ring,
and sing a faerie's song.
Finer than any minstrel could sing,
and dance into the night long.

Quick little figures go round and round,
hands join and part, feet stop and start,
as you glide gracefully over the ground.

With wings sailing, cloaks trailing,
you flutter and twirl in giddy whirls.
With eyes shining, feet alligning,
with dozens of others and sisters and brothers
in your magical faerie dance.

And you gather round in a faerie ring,
and sing a faerie's song.
Finer than any minstrel could sing,
and dance into the night long.

You slowly rise into the cool night air,
you wings pulsing, reflecting, shimmering.
And a floating, gently moving ring of figures,
twirling, softly, glimmering.

Your voices are gentle and high and sweet,
and gently back and forth go your feet,
as with eyes shining, feet alligning,
with dozens of others with sisters and brothers
in your magical faerie dance.

In the twilight under the moon,
under the stars, the sky.
The sky as black as a raven's wing,
higher than it could ever fly.

This is where the faerie's flew,
where they danced and twirled,
and sang and whirled,
anew.

The breeze gently sways the trees,
as they dance to the ancient song.
The air is warm, a peaceful scene,
a lake is still and crystal clear.
And all the dancers fade away,
like all the stars before the dawn,
and dissapear.

And you gather round in a faerie ring,
and sing a faerie's song.
Finer than any minstrel could sing,
and dance into the night long.

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