Grey_Ghost Poetry (1)

The Bottom of my garden,
'neth my plumb tree,
it is cool, it is fresh
it is only for me.

It has smells and a 'scape
that send me on high.
To memories in books,
with giggling brooks,
and Little People frolic
and play and jest,
Wishes Bequest.
For it, surely, is best.
The wind whispers through
the leaves and the boughs
carrying the laughter
of Faeries and Elves

I go there at night,
With hope upon hope
That this time I might,
Be blessed with the sight
On my back in the clover
Of a star shooting over
Trailing the dust of love and belief
Requesting relief
“I wish I may, I wish I might,
Keep my wish I wish tonight.

Shh! I hear it again
Like the patter of rain
Is it feet, is it wings?
I know it is there
I feel good, I feel fine
The garden’s my wine
Darkness hides them from my eyes
I know they’re there

I sense You there

It is late the dew has fallen
The night is heavy with dreams and love
The sky is Exquisite

Then low and behold
At the end of my sight,
My body is shaking
Save for the fright,
So tiny and slight
I see my first Faerie!
Oh My ! It is nearly scary.

She comes so close
that I feel her wings
Beating so swift
I thought that she sings

She picks me a rose
Lifts it to me
Now next to my ear
The news is not good
It’s a warning.
Time is short,
Soon will be morning !

I awake the next day
With a smile on my face
Remembering dreaming
Of Faeries and imps

My eyes get wet as I sit up in bed
Then I weep for joy
For under the bed clothes
I smell my new Rose