Like a wind that’s too shy to sing.
Darting through the air,
Your wings sparkling with fallen starlight,
Wet as the morning dew,
The fey folk, the cunning folk,
Gather ‘round and dance the night away.
Fairy rings, illuminating dark wood.
You watch your step or you fall right through
And spin around forever.
Sway to the tambourine, the fiddle,
The Irish tin whistle.
Circle ‘till you’re dizzy
And fragile as a bluebell
For they’re your misfortune.
They’re whatever goes bump in the night.
They’re the tangles in your pretty hair.
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