Are we too old, then,
for believing in fairies still?
I remember when
you thought one tapped the window sill,
how you shook with fear.
Said I, the oldest and most wise,
“fairies wont come near,
so sleep sweet cousin, rest your eyes.”
We wanted wings, too,
so we sang their chants in the woods
and brought fairy food:
donuts, cake, a slew of baked goods.
Remember the home
we made out of rocks, roots, and moss?
Those things are not gone,
they remain in a pile of loss
of our innocence.
Now we stand trapped by adult thought;
This state, transience,
worse than having no fairies caught.
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