Some blind folk see the faeries clear,
For faeries are always close or near.
Oh, better far than what we see
Are fairy wings that brush our faces
Like spiders’ webs, or shimmering laces.

Such magical, lovely, lonely things.
A rustle in the wind reminds us
A fairy sprite is near.

Shush! Do not scare her
She is full of fear until her night is spent.
Her tears upon the pillow-scent….

The crow she sings her lullaby as harsh as harsh can be
But the golden fairy goddess makes it so lovely for me.