The Faerie Feast, Page 1 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

O please won't someone listen to
The tale I have to tell?
I know you won't believe me for
She cast a faerie spell.

T'was late one night, the first of May,
I left the Toad-and-Tack
To walk the mile or so to home
Along the wagon track,

Which winds it way around the edge
Of the ancient forest, long,
When I heard the sound of music, gay,
And voices raised in song.

I stopped and turned and listened there,
The music, an elation;
I looked and searched but could not see
The source of celebration.

So into the forest dark I crept,
So curious was I;
I thought I saw some lights ahead,
flickering quite nigh.

As I came near, the music swelled,
And through the trees I saw
A thousand tiny creatures, fair;
I crouched in silent awe.

Three tables, long, with candles, lit,
Were filled with faerie food,
And all about, the wee folk sat
In costumes multi-hued.

Some flew about as serving maids,
Bringing dishes, filled,
And taking empty dishes back,
Without a dew-dropp spilled.

Horns blew and all the comp'ny stood,
Down flew a gilded coach
Pulled by a team of dragonflies;
All bowed at its approach.

Out stepped the fairest of the fair,
Most beautiful I've seen,
With maids-in-waiting attending;
I knew she was their Queen.