Whisper,
Like a wind that’s too shy to sing.
Darting through the air,
Your wings sparkling with fallen starlight,
Wet as the morning dew,
They’re gossamer.

The fey folk, the cunning folk,
Gather ‘round and dance the night away.
Fairy rings, illuminating dark wood.
You watch your step or you fall right through
And spin around forever.
Sway to the tambourine, the fiddle,
The Irish tin whistle.
Circle ‘till you’re dizzy
And fragile as a bluebell
Blossom.

For they’re your misfortune.
They’re whatever goes bump in the night.
They’re the tangles in your pretty hair.
And they’re the rainbow when the red isn’t there.
They be the wreath without the rowan.
They be the song the changeling sings.
They be the devil with gossamer wings.

Hawthorne, clover, primrose blooms,
Add them to your haunted bouquet.
Light a candle, flicker, flutter.
Leave them honey, bread and butter.
But a porch with rusty nails will fall,
And red attracts the hornet’s nest.
Salt in the wound won’t do you good.
What if your life is inside-out
Instead of upside-down?
Circle ‘till you’re dizzy,
Fragile as a bluebell,
Showered with rain,
Gossamer rain.