The golden-bird dawn is but a minute away
And the morning dew harvest is in its sway.
I stand in pre-morning dreary, still weary,
My eyes on a sign that reads, 'Don't Hunt the Fairy.'
Then that golden bird emerges,
Spreading every plumb
And a silver pixie flitters out
And emerges from its tomb.
The ruggy-furred bear
Yawns from its cavern
And clown-drunks already
Gather at the tavern.
The music house calliope
Is beginning to wield,
And the farm house farmers
Ready to reap yield.
Little children scurry from their houses,
Wearing masks
And maids and butlers sigh
At their long lists of tasks.
The fidgeting grass
Lines the straddling mountains,
The castle courtyard opens
With birds in marble fountains.
I see flags raised
High above every loft
And the pixie with a flute
Plays a sunflower melody soft.
Then I understand the meaning
Of the old wooden sign,
That not all days like these
Are born to be so fine.
When a grey begins to cast
And shade is presented
Upon the worldwide dreary,
We can leave the aghast
For the solace of this fairy.
K. Jared Hosein
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-don-t-hunt-the-fairy/
