Under Her Wing

The light of the moon fell through the trees,
And hundreds of fireflies filled the air.
All forest creatures run as they please,
For in these woods there's no fear, no care.

Within this haven, no blood can be shed.
The predator called man is not allowed.
No manner of being, shall death they dread,
While dwelling beneath the Queen's great shroud.

All creatures bestow greetings upon she.
As her magic protects from the hunter's eye.
They bow and pay homage upon bent knee.
For it is her will that they should not die.

A weeping willow formed a chair,
A majestic throne, naturally pristine.
With exotic plants everywhere.
Except a path, leading to the queen.

Soft white light, from a ball floating high,
Drifted down between the limbs of the trees.
To softly nestle on the throne, with a sigh,
Forming a body, leaving every eye pleased.

The light dissipated, absorbed by her skin.
And she inhaled, filling newly formed lungs,
Standing, she lifted feathered wings to the wind.
and smiled as desire trickled from their tongues.

"Good day to you all, for this day shall be great,
And it warms my heart to see you are well.
You assuredly lift, from my soul, a weight,
And all my worries, your appearance dispels."

A young fairy stepped forward, a species of sprite.
"Great Mother, you are kind, with your loving care,
But you are the protector of our day and night.
So, we've come to show the thanks we share."

She looked down with pride at the tiny sprite,
And gently caressed her childlike face.
Emotion overwhelmed, from the fairy's delight,
So she held her within her motherly embrace.

"It seems I've done well, in choosing my plight,
For the love you share has surpassed my measure.
I shall forever protect you, day and night,
For you, my children, bring me great pleasure."

A shadow passed over, just beneath the clouds,
As a great, golden dragon soared in flight.
In a flash it was gone, invisible to the crowds,
Then circled, and hovered, within their sight.

The queen's naked body, consumed by her glow,
Drifted back up, into the open blue sky.
Her ascension they witnessed, methodic and slow,
Until she vanished, into the dragon's right eye.

And this is the reason why fairies are fiction.
That is why they are perceived as a yarn.
For no matter one's will, intent, or conviction,
The queen's fair children shall be free of all harm.

Tom Palmer is currently in Iraq, and had some time on his hands while waiting for parts, so he decided to browse through some old files that he took with him. He found this poem, which he wrote back in 1998, and cleaned it up a little. It seems fairly understandable now, so he sent it out so the world could decide for themselves.

Find more by Tom Palmer in the Author Index.

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