The Wee Folk

                              (1)

remain hidden and silent, undisturbed

by us who still believe and seek them,

revealing themselves in their time, perhaps

when we least expect it, but a glimpse caught

or a voice heard in the silence of sunrise.

 

                              (2)

Or in the evening’s stillness, dragon light

on the western brim’s horizon, the peepers

and the shoreline’s soft kiss, and the shadowy

sounds of faint laughter, a cheerful chorus sung

beneath the fallen night, starlit, like a slight breeze

blowing in the evening’s stillness, unmoving;

the wee folk overheard, imagined, unseen, hidden,

perhaps, among the brush and the brambles.

 

                              (3)

And from an eye’s corner, movement,

stilled in our turning, a dash, a splash

of color, faintly seen, subtle, now gone;

but we know, we believers seeking, we have

been visited, allowed a glimpse, a flash,

a sense of the wee folk we share the day with,

a brief moment of a reality shared, the faery

realm, freed now to live our own faery lives.