The Faerie Song
A nest of swallows
Bright stars through quiet trees.
Standing midst the clamour of hungry sounds
The last fluttering of the leaves as the wind dies.
The deep shade of the close forest
Of young trees and giant ferns,
Breaking apart to a cathedral of warm light
Running breath filled green
And the sight of a clear blue sky
And the soaring archangels of the morning.
Down the glade full of pipes and colour
Come Faeries robed in starry gowns.
A troupe timeless, a moving event,
Passing by but never travelling.
Pale young blues and temple yellows,
Greens and greys
And reds as rich as sunrise,
Their music wild and free.
They rush past, frozen panic,
Sounds and colours disappear
In the sun and shade
Like the last fluttering of leaves as the wind dies,
Flying off to lost destinations.
©2014 Jim Carroll
(1966)
