Haunting cries filter through a forest so dark;

A wolf's cry, sad and lonesome, drifts up to the moon;

A loon on the lake, her song of dismal sadness reaches the loneliest heart;

Waxing and waning, casting her reflection, the moon sits high above the trees;

The waters sparkling, dancing, rising, retreating, flowing 'cross the river beds;

Little feet dance along felled trees, twirling and twisting, fluttering their wings;

They fairies are come to play, to play in the calm stillness of the night;

The moon high in the darkened expanse of the sky, her light bathing them;

Shimmering wings flutter around, hands entwined on the branchy bows;

A gentle melody from the lute, as gentle as the fingers that play it, fills the air;

Branches shuddered in the soft breeze, leaves scooped up, are scattered in the air;

The fairies go where they please, hands mingled, and hearts uplifted;

Oh to see the fairies dance, to tell the tale of their haunting song;

Little feet against the log, fingers slip from each other;

A child's dream has been fulfilled, as the fairy swings her dainty wand;

What more can we say? On the fairies ways;

Emerald, ruby, crimson, and jade;

Colours so vibrant, cloth so gently, laid down across the grassy bank;

Warm smells of cider, of pie, and of cinnamon;

The fairies have come to feast and to dance;

What more can I say? On the fairies moot;

There's food, and singing, and stories to boot;

A child's gaze can see, what adults deem as mystery;

'Come to us' the phrase was spoken, and to them goes he freely;

And so they dance, into the night until the moon shall disappear;