02 Shawna L.
As a child I thought of fairytales;
but as I grow older,
I still cling to some.
Magic is made, with love.
Salt keeps demons at bay,
but you shouldn't believe in-
such things they say.
But I know of a different art-
it calls me in my sleep,
and wakens me to dream.
Another world, another day;
long lost, Lydee-a.
Castles and fountains,
and fairies and mountains.
Hidden beneath thy feet.
I am of my mother,
brought to thee by father;
who wakens each sunny morning,
to fight fire with water.
And I am the gift of love,
hear the angels;
cherubs, above.
My gift is my voice,
to speak is heaven.
And I am joyful!
But speak of tiny things;
shimmering things,
with fancy.
I love the winged beings.
The way they laugh,
the jokes they play.
The souls of the dead at bay.
But thy roots can't help but get stronger;
and thy truth can't help but get longer,
and the ties between us is fonder-
and I weep for you, over yonder.
With love, I give my being.
my soul, and my song.
To the Gods that where always there,
to keep me strong.
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