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On peeping through the aperture inside the old oak tree
I gasped with wonder to behold the vision that awaited me
For deep inside three fairies slept their delicate wings like lace
To attest their actuality a childhood dream I would embrace

When I was young, a wee small child, sometimes naughty, sometimes wild
I searched in all the nooks and crannies, seeking fairies, so beguiled
I came across a barren meadow; an ancient oak was growing there
The tree became a favourite haunt, enthralling every daily jaunt

I remember telling grownups of the fairies deep inside my tree
They laughed aloud, this silly child, who dared display temerity 
I often sketched or made up songs about my childhood saga
Searching for fairies constantly, whilst eating Italian frittata

A child no longer I still reflect upon their negativity
Accused of telling fairy tales displaying such proclivity
Imagination running wild and full of positivity
I did see fairies every day, their nuance their transparency

Now looking back the gift I had was wacky and unique 
They said I must stop lying and of fairies never speak
Feeling honoured for this gift, so deep within my marrow
I celebrate my childhood visions, dismissing minds so narrow

And now each day I watch them play around my old oak tree
As they perform a show for me, displaying their fragility
Each night they fly high in the sky, with silver gossamer wings
Like twinkling stars in a moonlit sky, tugging at my heartstrings 


Written 29th October 2018
For Eight Word Challenge 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
4th placement

Contest Strand Choice H
Sponsor Brian Strand 
HONORABLE MENTION

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