I talk to flowers and often hug trees
Walk barefoot in rivers and sing to the breeze
Some say I’m barmy I’ve a screw loose somewhere
But our planet still needs our Fairies to care.
Crocus and Daffodil, - come Primrose old friend
Your earth as your field’s are still ready to send
your timeless old message in nature your gift
but stone and foul concrete rue the world end so swift.
The waters of Faery, of Fay and of Prisky
Quember and shadow and Iris the pixie
Most Sons of Adam shroud themselves from your ways
And so hustle and profit now fill their sad days
In Summer, Penelope sleep weavers, dream
by Laume winged angle in Lakeland and stream
Come Autumn and Celtic, of Irish and Gnome
come Barly and big nose reclaim this Earth as your home.
Oh green men and Faeries, Trolls, and sweet Nell
of West Country Muryans, such stories you’d tell
in a forest of bluebells, little Owling Byrrd will
come up and greet you, - if you keep ever so still.
Ancient lay-lines of madric of Faylinn’s design
Nor years nor mans avarice could ever decline
But OK I admit it, my line is of Eve
And I cannot justify my brothers greed
When you next see a morn field covered in dew
Or full in wheat swaying with poppys anew
Foxglove and hawthorn, will you think of me sad
Or perhaps like some others you will think me, quite mad.