Gossamer Flight

Deep inside the crystal forrest
Where many fear to go
Is a place of peace and harmony
Where the springs of eternity flow.

This is where the faeries live
And pass away the hours
Dancing thru the trees,
Playing in the flowers.

Faeries flitting on gossamer wings
Is a common sight
Their wings of rainbow colors
Unfold, quietly taking flight.

Come and take the journey
To find your child within
Open up your heart and mind
And watch the magic begin.

Copyright 1999 Corky Ferguson.

Woodland Wonder

Where the tall trees grow
And the butterflies go...
Sometimes as tiny as a baby's toe
And others as big as a garden hoe

In amoungst the flowers
In the fairy Vail
Are these little tiny
Dancers Dancing on air....

Painting and Poem by Lori Brooks

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Oh, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful-a faery's child
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sidelong she would bend and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said-
"I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed-Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death pale were they all;
They cried-"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid waning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

John Keats

Song of Fairies Robbing an Orchard

We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.
Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.
When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

Leigh Hunt

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