Deep within the woodland thick
where the moss is green and the air can stick
where the ghosts of mists coil a branch
and the musky scent can make you blanche
there lies a path, long overgrown
that can lead you to a Fairies home.
Don’t tread the toadstools, don’t breathe too loud
and look for the Sidhe of her fairy home ground
and when you find her bark and fur door
knock once, only once, and no more.
If she’s home, (which she often is)
she’ll bring a fairy brew with frothing fizz
and, though spiders in her hair
and their webbing that she’ll wear
and her narrow eyes, whiteless and dim
and her twisted, almost garish grin;
she’s a kindly little sprite
a guardian of the mystic night
within the forest, so old and deep
all its magic long asleep.
So drink her beer, and hold discourse
and if she likes you (she will, of course)
she’ll ask of you what you want and wish
that’s when you can answer her “Seranish.”
Now, she’ll not have power to take you there
but she’ll know the who and where
and she’ll point you on past forest loam
towards the city hidden under moonlight dome
concealed by magic and mystical things
where the bell of Wishing rings.
So follow her direction, and she’ll help you along
to find the Enchantress in Old Avalon.
And if I say more, I fear that fairy so old
will make a trip here, and it’s me she’ll scold
for if I interfere more than I should
she’ll abandon her fairy wood
and turn me into toad, or mushroom or moss,
like so many in her wood that happened to be lost.
So from here, my friend, you’re on your own,
so seek out that woodland home.