A fairy storyFairies dance in fairy circles,
Look what they have found.
A pot of gold, at the end of a rainbow,
Lying on the ground.
They dance and sing and laugh and play,
They're gentle but not frail,
They sit together ready to hear
A magic fairytale.
The youngest of them all lies still,
she gazes here and there,
and falling all around her face,
her silky auburn hair.
The grass is soft beneath her,
and of a bold, green hue,
and stretched out all above her,
a sky of bluest blue.
in her hand she holds a purple
flower, soft as silk,
its petals falling lazy against her
skin as white as milk,
But behind the face of splendour,
there lies a face of sorrow,
For she knows it shall not be here
by early morn tomorrow.