Imagine my delight to discover a wee little cantaloupe this week, stem drying out and ready for “picking,” near the same spot. I’ve always been fascinated by tiny things and spent endless hours pretending I was one of Mary Norton’s "Borrowers" growing up!
So this week I’m offering a nod to all diminutive folk with a poem from Rose Fyleman (1877–1957). Her Wikipedia bio states that her her first publication, "There are Fairies at the Bottom of Our Garden," appeared in Punch in May of 1917. [I also like stories of people making their first splash into publishing at age 40 or later - ;0) ]
While I wouldn’t say the writing is spectacular, I personally needed something as light as fairy dust after a week of such heavy remembrances.
“The Best Game the Fairies Play”
by Rose Fyleman
The best game the fairies play,
The best game of all,
Is sliding down steeples—
(You know they’re very tall).
You fly to the weathercock,
And when you hear it crow,
You fold your wings and clutch your things
And then let go! …
For the rest of the poem, click here.
To slide down more poems, visit Amy at The Poem Farm for this week’s Poetry Friday Roundup.