Little fairy, wings and all
Do not in your haste fall
In the icy rains fly strong
Your little wings won’t steer wrong
Little fairy, wings and all
Your heart is full of courage and gall
When the winds throw you about
Your little wings will keep you stout
Oh little fairy and your little wings
Flying about finding out things
Growing to become a fairy strong and tall
One day little fairy, your wings and all
Red life
Blood light
Running down a hill
An ocean tear
A blue tear
Cut in fabric, thread unraveled
Grass sword
Green blade
Shining under fires
Rays of heat scorching
“Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind, if anything which gives so much pleasure ought to be called unsoundness.”
— Thomas Babington Macaulay, Critical and Historical Essays: Volume 1 (1825)