A Fairy Lighted Dream...

 Hey Guys! Recently I have been quite obsessed with Shakespeare, and more old-timey plays, books, and songs! I decided to write a poem in that elegant writing style of the old, on a topic every little girl dreamed of once... (P.S. - I had to search up words like 'mayhap', 'o'er' and 'methink'... they mean maybe, over and in my opinion!)

 If I Were a Fairy...

If I were a fairy, with wings finely spun,
I’d dance ‘neath the moonlight and rise with the sun.
O'er meadows and forests I’d lightly descend,
Where blossoms and zephyrs and starlight attend.

I’d murmur to roses and cradle the breeze,
And paint frosted lattices on winter’s chill trees.
With dewdrops for diamonds, I’d bedeck the dawn,
And sing gentle ballads till night hours are gone.

If I were a fairy, so fragile and slight,
My bed would be fashioned of thistle and light.
With dandelion pillows to rest my soft head,
And cobwebs for curtains in my sylvan bed.

I’d sip from the nectar in cups wrought of shells,
And tell fables oft whispered in bluebell-filled dells.
I’d frolic with spiders and waltz with the rain,
Then vanish ere morning, and come back again.

If I were a fairy, with magic bestowed,
I’d heal broken spirits and lighten each load.
A sparkle, a wink, and the world would grow bright,
With laughter and dreams in the hush of the night.

Yet were I a fairy, these pleasures denied—
The warm golden sunshine, the earth at my side.
No taste of ripe apples or hearth’s cozy glow,
No shadow to follow where'er I might go.

If I were a fairy, so tiny and fleet,
I’d miss the soft patter of my own two bare feet.
The mud on the pathway, the scent of the loam,
The stories and secrets that make this my home.

If I were a fairy, I’d dwell in the shade,
Yet long for the dawn and the songs that are made
By birds in the branches at break of the day,
While fairies in darkness must always away.

If I were a fairy, forever thus small,
No growth, no great dreams, nor challenge to call.
No journey through ages, no blossoming wings—
No striving for life and the joy it still brings.

So mayhap ’tis better that I’m simply me,
With feet on the earth and heart wild and free;
For magic, methinks, is not bound by a spell,
But dwells in the soul where true wonders dwell.