In the middle of an ordinary cornfield,
In an ordinary place,
Stands a small group of trees
Spared from agricultural fate.
Chosen by fairies–
Forever their glade,
Or spared by corporate greed,
Property line arguments man-made.
Whatever the reason,
It rests in the fog,
Magical as ever,
Eerie, a bit odd.
Yet it doesn’t look out of place,
It fits just right,
A hidden little wonder
Tucked away out of sight.
I hope there are fairies,
Or witches, or gnomes,
Living in that haven,
Their whimsical home.
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 7:16 AM UTC
In the middle of an ordinary cornfield,
In an ordinary place,
Stands a small group of trees
Spared from agricultural fate.
Chosen by fairies–
Forever their glade,
Or spared by corporate greed,
Property line arguments man-made.
Whatever the reason,
It rests in the fog,
Magical as ever,
Eerie, a bit odd.
Yet it doesn’t look out of place,
It fits just right,
A hidden little wonder
Tucked away out of sight.
I hope there are fairies,
Or witches, or gnomes,
Living in that haven,
Their whimsical home.
I think there's magic in things left untouched
And maybe magic isn't real, but I believe it is so hush.
Request permission to use this poem