Fairly foggy should be the forecast
On many springtime nights.
The wood sprites have been waiting for this
To cloak their fairy flights.
I know they’re playing hide and go seek
Through the hemlocks and oaks.
Some people think they must be fireflies;
I know they’re fairy folks.
As the morning light squints through the mist,
The fairies fly away.
I can’t find even one watching us
As we begin our day.
The sunlight burning ever brighter
Clears the gauze from our sight.
I wonder if the fairies return
On every foggy night.
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