In the fey garden
there were rosebuds dripping a sweet nectar
that pooled on the ground crimson
wafting a heavenly scent
and the smell made ears ring
and sing with the cries
of the butterflies caught
left to rot, in the pretty fey garden.

In the fey garden
there were sweet fruits swelling with poison
and a fluttering song
caressing the fallen
though the tune was sharp
to the dead they were calling
the screeching rang strong, in fey garden.

In the fey garden
was a mystery told
the mundane, young and old
came longing for gold
they were sold by the fables
but the tables were turned
with the tune
sung of blood,
that flooded fey garden.