~The Dew Faery~

In the spring when the frosts are all over,
When fields turn green with grass and clover,
When the early forsythia turns bright yellow,
And the temperatures turn warm and mellow,

She comes spritely in the service of the Queen.
Shyly, quietly, she moves. Hardly ever is she seen.
Sometimes walking, sometimes flying on gossamer wings,
Tunes learned ages ago, she sweetly sings.
The precious drops she pours from her leafen bucket,
Come from the eyes of dancing fairies,
Their sorrows trying to forget.
Each joyful tear gathered, by her magical mop,
Never does she loose, not even a drop.

From the Queen's Great Hall beneath the Old Willow,
Where the fairies frolic on a mossy pillow,
She comes with her leaf filled to the top.
To a place well hidden 'neath a tall buttercup,
There she spreads her sweet magical brew,
Mingled mystically with the cool morning dew.
Now, if by chance you find this unnoticed place,
And maybe a drop of the fairy dew you happen to taste,
A magical gift will surely be given,
by the order of the Queen.

A glorious event to behold, by only a few rarely seen,
The fairy guides come and pay you a visit,
To take you to a festive place, its beauty exquisite.
For to partake of the fairy dew, just one drop is all,
Brings an invite to dance with the fairies
In the Queen's Great Hall.
So young and old seek the Buttercup,
the Dew Fairie’s place,
But you must go early, For with the rising sun,
The dew vanishes without a trace. 

~by D.R. Hartle~
Illustrtaion by James Browne
www.jamesbrowne.net