The Rose Fairy
The soft morn’ dew settled on the grass,
Amid delighted laughs.
The sun rose in the sky above,
As the fairies had their bath.
Her face was little as a sliver of zest,
Her rose-red hair did flow.
Her lips scarlet as a robin’s chest.
The petals in her little hand would fell wherever she’d go.
I stumbled across her clear one day,
Whilst strolling through your garden.
She squeaked with fright when she saw me,
I said, “I beg your pardon.”
She giggled, “My name’s Mary-Bell, but you can call me Mary.
This is my home, roses I own, for I am their own rose fairy.”