The Faerie

• Emily Muirhead, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2011

Effervescent shimmers fill the air,
Behind her streams her mass of hair,
Soft as silk, spun like gold,
This child of whom the legends told.

Her voice is like music, her hand light to touch,
Her whisper amounts to not very much,
But when aggravation spreads over her face,
Her cheeks-how they flush! Your own heart starts to race;

For the fury of faeries is difficult to match,
Her fire and dew make her baffling to catch;
Her eyes flash like lightning let loose in a storm,
One forgets the placidity that to you is the norm.

It never does to insult such a thing,
Who will not brush off taunts with the flick of a wing;
She will send you back to life's very start,
And treasure the wound deep, deep down in her heart.