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By the light of the pinkest prettiest orange moon Faerie folk had ever seen, There was a haze such as the elves could have invented, but maybe not. It was the magical bewitching hour, and the meadow was dampish, and keen. The nymphs had put their butterflies away, to lie next to the woolen sot. The woolen sot was a rag doll which had been left in faerie land eighteen years ago By a little girl who had fallen into the meadow accidentally during a dream. The entire faerie brigade could not have gotten her home, without the help of GLOW. GLOW is made up of cricks, flicks, santa mezies, ricks, and beetles, any bug not mean. We worked for hours to dislodge the child, so we could safely pass her back to her bed. Somehow the leaf lickers had not noticed the doll, until it was way too late. I was one of the lucky ones, at the feet. We clearly felt sorry for the ones who had her head. The head movers had to be extra careful to not wake the sleeping princess, age of 8. This night was one of those magical nights that only comes around in a blue sky’s row. We knew that sleeping princess’s daughter just might fall through the rainbow, and we were ready. We had washed Woolen Sot, reattached her loose eye, and tightly and sewed her slit toe. Everyone was dancing the faerie fix it dance, even the silly bubbalouer, sick Freddy. We knew if baby daughter fell through onto Faerie meadow tonight, we could get Woolen Sot home. We all kissed her soundly, and loudly, with smacking, happy faerie kisses. She kissed us for fun. “Here she comes!” Freddie called out. “Everybody move!” We ran behind the fountain of Over-Roam. “Where did you come from?” her mother, the original owner, cried out the next day, overcome. Never realizing it was the faeries, the brownies, the slay slimmers, the toots, and this darling poem. Yes, we brought Woolen Sot home, yes we did!
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