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She lay crumpled in my garden

     And I thought that she was dead.
The sun’s rays touched the pretty hair

      Upon her little head.

A wand was clasped within her hand

     And she had tiny wings –
But I wasn’t someone who believed

      In supernatural things!

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I asked myself: 'Is this a dream

     From which I must awake?'
Yet, there she lay upon the soil.  

      It wasn't a mistake.

I picked her up.  Was she a doll -

      A little girl’s delight?
Was there somewhere an upset child

      Who’d cry for her tonight?

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There’s more I have to tell you

      But you may think it’s untrue.
She opened up her tiny eyes –

     Such pretty eyes of blue!!

She then sat up and looked around,

      So now what should I do?
I said: 'Sweet fairy, do not fear,

       I never would hurt you.'

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She then told me her story which

      I’ll now relate to you:
A bumblebee had knocked her down,

     As in the flowers she flew.
     

She fell amongst my dahlias, 

      And here she’d been all day.
How lucky for the little thing

       That I had come her way.

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I took her home and cared for her

     And now she’s fit and well,
So I’ll return her to my garden

      And I’ll sadly say farewell.

Believe in fairies?  Now I do.

      Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t stay,
But I’m sure if you believe in them,

      You’ll see one, one fine day.

 

Copyright on all my poems

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The little fairy is, in fact, a little bone-china doll which a land-army lady gave me during the 2nd world war and this little doll now lives in my drawer, sleeping soundly  in a soft purse.  I wouldn't part with her for anything.  Her name is Anne and many children know her.  We hardly ever were given a doll, unless it was home-made, during the war years, so I valued Anne.  Josie​​​​​

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