Why dost thou not go, to yonder meadow,
Where choral cow parsley, dost dwell and blow.
Weary willow herb, in tall bunches long,
Camp campanula, in clusters ding dong.
Partying plantains, march over the green,
And dosey dead nettle, darkly unseen.
Unnoticed fairies, they frolic about,
Where one may observe, young flowers to sprout.
Unseen by your eyes, fairies lark and play,
As merry field wights, in the meadow fey.
Those creatures unseen, hiding in their nook,
It’s not what one sees, it’s where you don’t look.
They glide through shadows, you may not yet see,
Flicker of vision, behind the ash tree.
Sprinkling fairy dust, growing the flowers,
Helped by a little, warm summer showers.
Concealed field wights and, small meadow sprites,
Nightly weaving their, misterious rites.
Protecting the ash, by side of the field,
Long staves, arrows spears, and Yule logs to yield.
Copyright Afterre Lithe 2025 Andrew Rea
