A fairy story for a Sunday Morning

In the quietness
of the morning
before the birds
did sing
when all was calm
and most of us
appeared to be
lying, eyes closed
sleeping
that’s when
the fairies stir
they come out
of their little homes
and dance
to scents of myrrh
and Sandlewood
possessing a tribute
to those who
fell and became memories
in the sod
we never knew

where the furry
beasties scamper
and the chosen few
do crawl
in the dawning
of the morning
at the base
of Braddon’s wall.
was a burrow
near a furrow
made by Sawyers tractor
when
he turned round
on a sixpence
and was never seen agen
the tractor
lost its bearings
and crashed down
on poor Jack
broken
and in so much pain
he lay there
on his back
his world had crumbled
suddenly
his spirit died as well
and with his sister
Gertude he was buried
in the dell

lost to sight
and even
thought
beneath
the creaking gate
where lovers came to ponder
their future’s
and relate
where peaceful recollections
were maintained constantly
and Jack’s apparent passing
was remembered with a tree
planted near the wall
beside the burrow
in the gleam
of sunlight and of moonlight
where the fairies seem
to dance and play accordion’s
where Buttercups embrace
twas there whilst I lay
pining
that I saw her pretty face

she was dancing
with the others
to a tune I’d never heard
her tiny hands were holding
a wand
and it occurred
to me
it was of Labradorite
a feldspar, from a place
known only as Paul’s island
where silent sea birds grace
flaxen haired with hints of fire
her tresses full on, she
danced with so much spirit
and with much vivacity

committed to a second thought
this place became for me
a favourite place
where fire fles chase
and the moths all like to be
a certain light apparent
where Gertrude and brother Jack
lie quietly now together
with the old wall at their back
and that tree produces Apples
green apples some desire
dappled with the magic
of the fire flies fervent fire
of the scampering of Bunnies
and the moths that mingle there
and the memory of sweetness
and of, the lass with flaxen hair.

About Rex Tyler

I love animals. I enjoy writing poetry and delivering speeches.I like to mentor people who need help in preparing speeches and evaluations.I enjoy travel although it is much harder for me these days.I so enjoyed the Andes Mountains and Volcanoes and the Quichua people who live and thrive there.I have lots of friends around the world.
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