The curate who jostled with his kinsman…

I fell into step with Warrilow, as we both strolled along
And we chatted of things and all sorts, as we weaved through nature’s throng
He was very tall was Warrilow, at over one foot five
And he saw things from his lofty stance like no one else alive.
No one could see with quite the romance
The fawns and the faeries in bright shiny dance
And all of the time as we shambled along
In the roof of my mind I could hear a sweet songnature
And it sang of companions and friendship and things
And it sang of the beauty of butterfly wings
As onward we walked back into The Dell
For he was a faerie…and I was as well.

We were off to a faerie wedding
The finest in all the land
But of course, if you’re not a faerie
You really can’t understand.

All other faeries would be there
Among them a kinsman to all
For the wedding of a beautiful faerie queen
The most beautiful fae in the Great Meeting Hall
They’ve all jostled to get into position
They all wanted a jolly good view
And when Warrilow walked in, he’s the Curate
Who would make into one, what was two.
The Queen in her fine regalia was a beauty for all to see
The groom was a very lucky young man and that piece of luck fell to me.
Wassailing took place and much mead was supped
And all was so happy as they cheered cheer
Then we all left the Dell and set out on our way
And as if with a puff! we all disappeared.