If you go down to the woods tonight...

A dense and luscious Eden; Rising slopes surround a lake. Swans glide past serenely, Leaving ripples in their wake. A tangled mass of plant life Dips along the water’s edge. A laughing small brook gambols, Till it tumbles down a ledge. The trees stand tall and stately As wild garlic gently sways. A canopy of emerald, Shades meandering pathways. The leaves, in whispers, rustle To the buzzing of the bees. A soundtrack of sweet birdsong, Plays from high up in the trees. But hidden from the daytime, And emerging just at night, The woods will come alive, With creatures made from pure moonlight. It’s time to introduce to you, To a wonder, a delight, For sundown is the time, Pressmennan fairies take their flight. Tiny doorways open, In the trees down at the lake. Small wings flit through the cowslips, Trailing magic in their wake. The fairies, fresh from slumber, Dart from rowan down to fern. Tending to the woodland, Is the fairies’ one concern. Each tree must be examined, Every single blade of grass, Each bug trail must cleared, In case a beetle needs to pass. But when the work is finished Then the fairies get to play. Enjoying all the freedom, That’s denied to them by day. Silver trails of moon dust, Thread the velvet of the dark, Sapphire starlight sparkles, Fly up as the fairies lark. And when their play is over, It is time for them to dine, On fresh bright rays of sunlight, And the sweetest honey wine. The sunbeams, fresh and juicy, Are caught in a web each day. At dusk they’re always harvested, Before they fade away. The honey wine, Delivered by the bees the day before, Is left in drops of amber, Near each tiny fairy door. And as the dawn comes creeping, On the far side of the lake, The fairies know it’s bedtime, For so long they’ve been awake. So welcome to Pressmennan. It’s a magic place, I know. Like me, if you love fairies, It’s somewhere you’ll want to go.