The winter has been long and cold, and springtime still seems very far away.
I sit here snuggled in the warmth and dream about my childhood, and the fae.
How I miss glowing embers, underneath the flaming sods of turf that fed our fire.
When I used to sit in quiet contemplation as the faeries fed my hearts desire.
Dancing gaily through the woodlands, mirrored in the phosphorescent world of smoke and flame.
Faerie troopers marched across the gleaming forests edged with crimson and with gold.
Carriages of purest white, and silver reins upon the coal black shires that proudly cantered by.
Horsemen dressed in silver armour, prancing as they raised their glistening lances to the sky.
Then the Faery Queen,- magnificent in sparkling gown, she turned and waved to me.
Her wings like delicate, translucent butterflies, that fluttered blue against the ruby trees.
I cannot think of any other joy as sweet as this, my fondest childhood memory,
Though fifty years have past since then, it lingers still, as fresh and clear to me.
Every word I place upon the page brings childhood’s wonder closer to my mind.
All the joys and mysteries that, for a little while, I thought that I had left so far behind.
Join me now and let us gaze upon the embers hand in hand with our own inner eyes.
The perhaps we both can sleep, and dream of meadows filled with sprightly flowers,
And cloudless sunny skies.
By Patrick W. Kavanagh
(Read more from Patrick W. Kavagh on his Facebook Page)