They glisten there as they seem to dance in rain
Awakening in us the wild, refusing to be tamed
They don't age, sweet beings of gentle creation
For them the world's a stage, for their attention
They might fly, or flit about in the gentle breeze
And how they shine, reflecting light, joy released
These magnificent faeries offer a glorious outlook
Such that scholars believe won't be found in books
The joy they express seems alien, to modern eyes
We choose to age, to be in pain, in our modern lies
I refuse disbelief, instead, I say we should ponder
Life is short enough, than for us to refuse wonder
For your further consideration:
