Author: Peace Truth

ΤHE fairies play on the beach at night; I see them dance in the misty light; They weave their garlands of seaweed strands; with plows of silver, they plow the sands In dimpled furrows and tiny dells For a fairy harvest of colored shells.

I may not join them. I sit on the rocks Combing my beautiful moon-gold locks, Spreading them out on the breast of the tide In a dappled pathway shimmering wide, Where all the fairies that ever there be Might come a-dancing over to me.

I sing my songs, but they do not heed; they will not come. They are wise indeed. I would gather them close in my golden snare, drag them down in my web of hair, Nor all the magic that ever might be I Should charm them back from the depths of the sea.

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

For still, there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring, there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know.