Post by jjsewell on Feb 2, 2017 15:48:24 GMT -5
There is a place where fairies go when the world is winter white.
Down by the river where the winds don’t blow, they slumber out of sight.
The trail is guarded by chickadees and a host of feathered friends
who lead intruders through the trees and quickly round the bend.
Magically hidden, the fairies doze, safe from the winter’s chill.
Curled up tight as a budding rose, they slumber, oh so still.
They dream sweet dreams of the coming spring and wait with expectant ear
to hear the music as robins sing the start of a brand new year.
They dream about the day they’ll wake from winter’s long cold night
and stretch their wings and give a shake to soak up the sun’s warm light.
They dream of flying through sun-washed skies on wings of shimmering hue
to wake the others with joyful cries and kisses soft as dew.
They know the spot of every flower that sleeps beneath the snow,
waiting in her earthen bower to spread her leaves and grow.
Ladybugs in a snuggly heap, bear cubs suckling in newborn bliss,
even bullfrogs snoring in the mud so deep, all will awaken to a fairy’s kiss.
But for now they’ll dream sweet dreams, safe in their cozy den,
lulled by the gently flowing stream, till spring comes once again.
So if you happen by that place, that’s guarded by the chickadee
who charms you with his aerial grace and leads you on with chirps of glee,
you’ll know you’ve found where the fairies go when the world is winter white.
It’s down by the river where the winds don’t blow, where they slumber out of sight.
Go quietly, don’t make a peep. Their rest is not yet done.
But look, upon the snow so deep - fairy dust sparkles in the sun.