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Fairy-tale
par
Roger Whittaker
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The first of the sunrays are cast on my home of pine needles as I wake to the sounds of the wood from my dandelion bed and I gaze through my small cobweb curtains, down through the arches that are made from the wings of the bees & the moths that are dead Fairytale children are dancing like jewels in the morning caterpillar skin boots & green velvet suits catch the sun the butterfly aeroplanes land on a runway of roses and the policemen cockroaches are standing by watching the fun I hear three bluebells ringing in a steeple of heather & roses I can hear them so clear as I glide by on dragonfly wings and the gamekeeper fairy who lives in a mushroom nearby plays a lute made of pinewood & oak and plucks cottonwool strings The last of the sunrays are leaving the floor of the wildwood as the phantom black beetle arrives on the wings of the bat the grasshopper coachmen are harnessing mice to my carriage and the four coachlight fireflies are put into place by the rat Farewell to the appleseed pavements and moss covered roadways the tall mushroom castles, fairytale children and all I may never again chance to fly upon dragonfly wings or wake where the morning sun shines on a pine needle wall
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