Peter S. Quinn


These Are the Songs that Came from My Head


These are the songs that came from my head,
They came out when I came from bed,
A fairy told me a story or two in my dream,
It had all shorts of scenes but some where rather gleam;
Of mountains and forests and lonesome skies,
Of all shorts of opportunities and failures and tries,
That came as they wend like others go by,
But don't ask any questions, yes don't ask me why.
In the woods of the darkest forest I dwell,
Because a fairy put on me an unknown spell,
And no one can resolve that old some riddle,
Unless he could play the truest of fiddle;
These are the songs that came from my head,
But no one can hear them or where they will led,
Because here I am now wandering just around,
Trying to find a way out but I am all spellbound.
Butterflies and insects of all other shorts,
Are meeting with fairies and judges of higher courts;
They want me to be rescued and see me safely home,
Before night's again here with its supernatural gloam.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Edited: Thursday, February 17, 2011

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