Children born in fairyland
as wings begin to sprout
searching for sprinkles of cake crumbs
their magic is no doubt

They always get their wishes
made of enchanting light
once were thought of as misfits
But now their repute is bright

Early married at seven
homes of brick and granite stone
these flitting little sprites
our dearest friends they’re known

The penchant for trickery
in will-o-the-wisp spells
considered demoted angels
but we embrace their bells

To leave that stale bread
the essence of home and fire
taming dough to rise
in distaste of the pixie’s ire

the Sleagh Maith of Scotland
the Good People so blessed
condensed clouds of the north
like chameleons colured deft

To meet these beguiling wafts
with their translucent gossamer wings
a dream would surely come true
as the King of Fairies sings