Roger Whittaker Fairy-tale
The first of the sunrays are cast on my home of pine
needles
as I wake to the sounds of the wood from my dandelion
bed
and I gaze through my small cobweb curtains, down
through the arches
that are made from the wings of the bees & the moths
that are dead
Fairytale children are dancing like jewels in the
morning
caterpillar skin boots & green velvet suits catch the
sun
the butterfly aeroplanes land on a runway of roses
and the policemen cockroaches are standing by watching
the fun
I hear three bluebells ringing in a steeple of heather
& roses
I can hear them so clear as I glide by on dragonfly
wings
and the gamekeeper fairy who lives in a mushroom nearby
plays a lute made of pinewood & oak and plucks
cottonwool strings
The last of the sunrays are leaving the floor of the
wildwood
as the phantom black beetle arrives on the wings of the
bat
the grasshopper coachmen are harnessing mice to my
carriage
and the four coachlight fireflies are put into place by
the rat
Farewell to the appleseed pavements and moss covered
roadways
the tall mushroom castles, fairytale children and all
I may never again chance to fly upon dragonfly wings
or wake where the morning sun shines on a pine needle
wall
