Green Music

Once upon a time, when I was very young
there was a whole nation of Fairies,
little magic people who lived in our back yard ...
Fairy royalty, doctors of learning and common folk
smaller than dolls yet giant in intellect,
who commanded respect and awe from wise children.

All but the most obese Fairies had waists
easily spanned by a child's grasp
but no child ever actually caught one ...
The wee things were always just beyond reach
just out of the line of vision,
almost seen, almost heard, almost there.

Mama's ferns were Fairy cathedrals,
lilac blossoms cradled their young.
Brown bunnies were Fairy elephants,
and robins their winged steeds
Our violet patch was for them
a lush green jungle glowing with purple light.

Their vegetarian diet consisted mostly
of mint leaves, red raspberries, nuts, and.
honeysuckle nectar sipped from acorn shell cups.
Toadstools were considered to be a great delicacy,
especially Cream of Toadstool Soup.
Clumps of toadstools meant that Fairy farmers had been busy.

These little innocent people didn't need clothes but just for fun
they dressed in green-leaf tunics, hollyhock skirts,
and white picture hats made of Queen Anne's Lace.
For evening affairs, they adorned themselves with precious gems that
sometimes rubbed off on leaves and grass.
In the dewy morning, we would find forgotten fairy diamonds glittering everywhere.

Fairies really came to life in Autumn when
they made rich cider from fallen crabapples
and got wildly drunk celebrating day and night,
finally collapsing in the branches of trees
belching, smiling, and falling asleep.
Wherever a Fairy rested, there a leaf turned rust, red or yellow.

Winter was a busy season for the wee folk,
blessed as they were with a generous nature.
As Christmas gifts to cheer tired humans,
tiny artisans worked day and night,
cutting and chiseling crystal snowflakes, no two ever alike,
Sometimes the little fellows got carried away
and accidentally created terrible blizzards.

Jack Frost painted pictures on our windowpanes.
When branches were covered with ice and night wind blew,
we could hear the tap-tapping of his brush on glass,
producing priceless masterpieces rivaling anything in The Louvre
but Jack never allowed his work to be sold or saved and
soon the pictures melted back into water.

Fairies greeted Spring with mixed emotions as the start
of another cycle of new life marked the passage of time
and memories of Springs and Fairies who were gone.
Then The Fairy Piper would play a sad poignant dirge
we could almost hear, and the haunting music made
green May evenings seem melancholy.

I haven't almost seen a Fairy in years.
They seem to be on the Endangered Species list,
victims of trampolines, sky-blue swimming pools
and children who look to television for their magic
but every now and then I see a place,
perhaps some dark, old-fashioned yard unchanged by time
where tiny folk might still almost live ...

And sometimes, on warm melancholy May evenings,
I can almost hear the Fairy Piper playing
the sad old green music that reminds me of other Springs,
people who have died and lost civilizations,
the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome,
and the Fairies who once lived in my mother's garden.