A poem of a grandfather talking with his four-year-old granddaughter.

“Grandpa, are fairies for real? Mommy reads
me books about fairies, but I’ve never
seen a fairy.” The grandfather so needs
to answer carefully, not to forever

damage his four-year-old granddaughter’s
childhood belief in magic and wonder.
“Yes, fairies fly over all the waters
and lands of the world. They hide under

“ferns and flowers during the daylight hours
so that no one sees them. They only appear
at dark to display their magical powers.
To light their way, they keep a lantern near.

“So they won’t be discovered, they turn on
their lights just for short intervals of time.
From afar, their flashes mimic the well-known
pattern of the firefly – a strategy sublime.

“That way, you never can know for certain
whether it’s a fairy or firefly you see.
A fairy can fly close by, with a wide grin,
knowing that undetected she will be.

“Therefore, yes, sweetheart, fairies are as real
as fireflies are.” Grandpa escaped the horns
of his dilemma, or so he had begun to feel.
Then, “Thanks, Grandpa. What about unicorns?”