On fairies wings the new morn doth come;
In sleepy silence, it pierces the solemn night,
as legions of pixies in nimble grace, take their flight.
From stool to leaf, with magical ease, they do flit and flutter
Although they be quicker than the eye, and before my tongue could utter.
I in the solitude of the early light would hear them fly.
For I would lie still in the quiet of the forest green
And watch and listen for these mysterious and unseen.
Yeah though, tell me this, how do I know they even exist?
How can they be, if not ever they are seen?
Are they real, or imagined as in a dream?
I have the answer to this if you should want to be in the know,
For they, the little ones, are here and there, and everywhere we go.
And if you will but take gander and lay your eyes beyond the trees,
And with open mind, look in earnest at the evidence that they leave,
You will notice the still morning’s dew…fairy tears those be,
for you will find it true , for it is there in abundance for us to see.
With shades of blue and crystal hue, they were shed for you and me,
Tears of sorrow they do shed, for they in unison cry for us to be free.
To loosen the shackles that blind and bind us to realistic ties,
to rid ourselves of un-repented guilt, and free our minds to imaginations glee.
For when we are able this to do and if we be very still, and look with spiritual eyes
it is then the fairies we will see. For they have always been there for you and me, if and if only we set our mind free.
J. Allen Wilson © 2004