When  I was 5

my Father built a Faery house in the garden

just under the rose bush

with a roof of seashells and cracked pottery

Grandma’s broken broach hung on the door

I sat in the shade and watched

listening to Faery music

I left cupcake crumbs at the door

On cold nights

I’d leave bits of cloth

for blankets

I have often wondered

what has become

of the Faeries in our garden

I hope there has always been a child

in the shade



leaving cupcakes

and bits of cloth.

Kathy Keogh



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