They don’t believe in fairies, <br />Those old folk wide and staid, <br />They’ve never caught the glitter <br />Of their wings in forest shade. <br /> <br />For them the bush is just a place <br />Of timber, cows and corn, <br />They’ve never been up our creek <br />On a cool November morn. <br /> <br />From mossy banks all dotted <br />With violets breaking through, <br />Beneath the frondled maidenhair <br />Their shy eyes peep at you. <br /> <br />They sleep ‘neath tasselled tea-trees, <br />The drowsy summer day, <br />Where the tiny crimson love-birds <br />Around them dart and play. <br /> <br />The dew-drenched nights of Summer, <br />When gum-trees are aflower, <br />In foamy waves of sweetness <br />Bring round the fairies’ hour. <br /> <br />This is the time of frolic, <br />When they go floating high, <br />On wispy shreds of river mist, <br />Across the shining sky. <br /> <br />What! Don’t believe in fairies! <br />When they’re round you everywhere! <br />See them- who needs to see them? <br />You simply know they’re there.<br /><br />Alice Guerin Crist<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fairies-11/
