In a cold barren wood
lived Delilah LaFe.
In her old shattered blouse,
which she wore every day.
Her face is ashen and blurred when she cries,
pity and drear are within her blue eyes.
A small stray tear would run down her face,
‘t was dirty and smudged and quite a disgrace,
but no one was there to laugh or to scold,
for she was peculiar some way ‘t was told.
They had sent her away on that cold foggy day,
and had left her at the side of the wood.
She asked for a friend,
for her wounds they would mend,
she looked up in surprise
for in front of her a young fairy stood.
Her eyes seemed of pebbles,
her wings seemed of air,
her hair like the mane,
of a brown chestnut mare.
Her dress was of petals,
her shoes were of silk,
her skin very pale,
was the color of milk.
Her thin voice broke silence,
it was like that of the wind,
that swirled and twirled,
that laughed and spinned.
She said, “Delilah”, as a smile crossed her face,
“are you lost, are you lonesome, how’d you come to this place?”
Delilah explained her hard situation,
as a tear cross her face made it mighty migration,
it dropped to the ground,
a soft place is what it chose,
and amongst the soft earth a lilly arose.
The fairy’s smile grew and grew,
and suddenly she knew what to do.
“Us fairies, we can do magic, it’s true,
so we could make you a forest fairy too!”
“My name by the way Angelina Marie,
and you would be my sister, you see?”
So Angelina Marie cast her quick spell,
Delilah’s heart was no longer sore,
and she didn’t have to be alone anymore.