[Eadha Deora]

Dancing in the clover near the town of Dover,
the fairy made merry by the Dover ferry.
She flitted in the air without a single care;
She fluttered near a flow'r for nearly a whole hour.
She laughed at the river: the breeze made it shiver.
She winked at a bluebird; off they raced, giggles heard.
But then, lo! She did hush for there amidst the brush
was built a careful nest made with the bluebird's best.
And the gae meadow sprite saw warm eggs, blue and white.
Woe! A shrill cry rings out. What is this fright about?
The mother sprawled out dead, hit with stones in her head.
Dead! A cruel, thoughtless boy used his cruel slingshot toy.
He grabbed her by a wing and then began to sing,
"Kill the birdie so quick, little Dick, little Dick!
Kill the bird. Pluck its wings, then we sing, then we sing!"
And off he skipped--not tears! not a tear, but a leer.
In grief the fae looked back to the eggs; what a lack!
Not a mother to warm them or keep them safe midst storms.
And when they hatch, what food would they get in this wood?
Pity swelled the sprite's heart, and she began the start
of her motherhood to fledglings being born new
with no bird to love them or bring larva to them.
And now the faery flies, seeking for where eggs lie,
whose mother has been slain or died because of pain.
So if you find a nest, an untended, small nest,
leave it for the egg-fae to keep in her own way.

[Lost Snail]

So good I may read it to my lil sis!

[Lost Snail]

She started laughing when I read 'Little Dick, little Dick'! She's only eight!!!!! Kids today....

[Eadha Deora]

that's HORRIBLE! lol--that's so wrong. only 8??? Wow. I must have been pretty innocent cause I had no idea about ANYTHING at that age. Not till junior high hit me in the stomach. grrr

[psycosis]

Really good.....You are so talented

[Eadha Deora]

*blushes and curtsies*
awww. . . you're so sweet. I just wrote this one at random during a really boring gym class. I think it's crap, lol, but it struck me a something I'd read to my little brothers so I posted it here. sigh . . . fickle muse, PLEASE return to me!

[Lost Snail]

it come to you, not you to it,
it comes in pieces, bit by bit....

[Lost Snail]

and at the most annoying unhelpful times too

[Eadha Deora]

hehee . . . like in the middle of the night. Sometimes I wake up at 4 in the morning with some random poem or story. And I HAVE to get up and write it down. grrr . . . or I'll be in the middle of some horrible class period and then--BAM!!!--I am scribbling down some rhyme or line. sigh . . .

[psycosis]

thats exactly it....but if I sit to make myself write I either get brainlock or scribble a bunch of inciherent garbage....lol

[Eadha Deora]

oh, is that what happened to some of my poems? *giggles*

[Evrviglnt]

I find that my imagination blossoms the more I tell stories to my nephews, who are 5 and 7. Each time I babysit, which is usually twice a week, they insist I tell them a bedtime story. I make up something willy nilly for them, which helps me to broaden my story telling creativity.

How little do they know how much they teach me....

[Eadha Deora]

Oh soooo true!!! I nanny in the summer--same exact thing. Also, a child's wonder and questions can really give you a different perspective.

[Ambrose]

I like how you told a story in this. And the content itself was distinct and interesting, in a strange way.

[aki_tsuki]

i the language and style you use

that, and I have a fondness toward faeries

[Vincentii]

What a sad, but wonderful, poem.