The carved words and pictures in the cave,
left by honored ancients bold and brave;
Speak of gods with powers from the sky,
placing glints of admiration in faithful eyes.

Abandoned in cryptic missives on the wall,
these sketches demonstrate the rise and fall;
Of civilizations long past throughout the years,
while portraying their daily hopes and fears.

People weren't really much different then,
from today's authors using a pencil or pen;
With lives which depict work, stress, and play,
through what artists' souls seek to convey.

Finding lost messages that teach us to grow,
from helpless children to those who know;
That ancestral stories stand firm and tall,
from clever carvings left upon these walls.

As I walk a meandering path
Through woodlands thoughts running through my mind.
This is my time,  to reflect, think, smile even laugh.
Halfway to home, down a small trail; I spy a circle of stones.
They appear to be hidden beneath a pile of leaves, under a big oak tree.
And I begin to wonder is this where a family of fairies live.

By day, you may not see them whilst you are walking.
The fairies keep themselves hidden from sight and you would not hear them talking.
But when the sun goes in and the moon comes out; myth has it the fairies play by the pale moon light.

I waited patiently until light turned to darkness.
I was rewarded as I witnessed the most spectacular show;
hidden from view, the fairies did not know.
Three fairies in total, all in sparkly fairy dresses;
their hair fell down their backs in long, tumbling tresses.
The fairies had glorious wings, painted the brightest of colours.
I heard them say their names were Darling, Petunia and Honour.
The eldest one I heard call Darling she had a beautiful voice; you should have heard her sing.
The fairy called Petunia was the pale faced beauty of Exetonia.
Finally, Honour appeared a tomboy with short hair and plenty of dirt on her.

All three of them were very tiny as one would expect.
Can you imagine if I told you they were no bigger than a *******?
I watched as they sat in a circle, legs crossed, whispering and giggling.
Then suddenly they clapped their heels,  flapped their wings, and took off to the skies.
The three fairies flew so high, suddenly to my eye they looked like three dragonflies.
They glided and swooped, they dived and hovered.
They flew under branches and over treetops.
They raced each other, 1,2,3 go.
Petunia I think was the youngest and she was quite slow.
The fairies continued flying until the moon went in and the sun came out.
Then they flew down to the ground and went back to their home.
Under the leaves, in a circle of stone.

Now when I am out walking.
And a dragonfly flutters by.
I wonder if this is really Darling, Petunia  or Honour.
I wonder if the fairies, knew that I had spied upon their manor.

The next time a dragonfly passes you by just give a little wave and say hi – you never know it may be one of the fairies or indeed all three.

Beneath a gentle morning breeze,
splashes of purple play,
at the feet of trees,
Lilacs, in a forest of grey

delicate and sublime,
a purple ocean, a violet sea,
with the scent of lavander,
their aroma captivates me