The peasant cloth of his noble tribe would once again be gossamer gilt and the walking faerie could fly.

The Walking Faerie

Vicki Eldredge

The path was clear and heavily used.
Its ruts worn deep from men walking by.
Eyes thick with the dust of disbelief,
The weary traveller journeyed on.
He bore the weight of his too-long life,
And lethargy replaced his spirit.
Mere existence had taken its toll.
He wore his wings tucked behind his back,
Just like a leper's old burlap cloak,
They were rent and muddy with disuse.
The wind would play with the drape of the wing
It would mesmerize you with its grace
But now he's ignored by his own kind
And completely unnoticed by ours.
You cannot kill what you cannot see,
But when did we close our eyes to him?
His sadness laced with greenest envy,
The fae stumbled on, oblivious
And unaware of the fading glow,
Reminds me of fools who dance for gold
And ignore the beauty of silver.
Listen to your weary harbinger
As he cries in the night for notice.
For if you would just open your eyes
You'd see his kind. You'd notice the wings.
The peasant cloth of his noble tribe
Would once again be gossamer gilt
And the walking faerie could fly.

the image is a detail from Three Princesses, by Kay Nielson , courtesy of Art Passions