Twain of fairies
Once upon a time in a land of giants,
gnomes, goblins, elves and dwarves,
roamed angelic beings of Celtic lore.
There beyond the sylvan woods of the
lowlands trapped within chiliads are
mystical forms of ancient cherubs past
the rainbows beyond the sundry meadows.
They skulk among the gorse blooms and
verdure of leaves behind the solace of
the highest boughs of willow trees galore.
Ethereal spirits that once dwelled before
in pristine caims and darkle barrows.
Past the valley of wizened trolls I stumbled
onto a most wondrous and lovely sight.
There between the ragworts and hawthorns
was a tiny figure of which bore within them
the guise of orbs of a shimmering glint.
It astounded me so quickly therefore it was
to be such a refulgent and glowing light.
The sound of buzzing wings soon skirled in
cadence and glowed in a beauteous lilt.
Endowed with magical powers they entice
a mere mortal with its charming allurement.
A fairy queen robed in glitter silver gauze
sparkled with diamonds and long flowing
hair that reached afterwards the ground.
She stared as I glanced with such a feeze
and I was lost in her bewildering enchantment.
And there suddenly as I came close abated
after the once skirling and shrilling sound.
There past the ferns to be then witnessed
was a sudden forlorn cry of a changeling.
It was a once a poor wretched urchin now
guarded by majestic ones in solemn majesty.
And the gesture was indeed to provoke in me
then such a strong and profound feeling.
She pointed to the child who was indeed
a unbelievable sight of immaculate purity.
It was then that a fairy king garbed in green
with a red cap on his head tied with a golden
band was to be seen as he thus appeared.
And forsooth his presence was of magnificence
and adorned in such a magical effulgence.
Suddenly the twain would stare at me and
into the gust of the wind they disappeared.
I was left to wean this once forsaken child.
There from my cottage and the purlieus of
the woods and countless whortleberries.
I swear I feel their mythological presence
when there is a wind that blows so mild.
And if I look hard I can see from beyond the
dale as well the beautiful twain of fairies.
Franc Rodriguez's Other Poems
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