Down-a-down-Derry

Will you show me the paths that the foxes use
when all but the moon is asleep,
the rustling grass of the midnight fields
where the brown-eyed field-mice peep?

Will you tell me the secrets told by the breeze
as she wanders the woods by night,
the whispers of leaves as she moves through the trees
setting the moths to flight?

Will you take my hand and lead me where
the wood nymphs cast their dreams,
the foxglove glades where the oak tree shades
their dance from the moon’s soft gleam?

Will you magic me small so I can crawl
through the hole in the wall to play,
and leave me there with the wild wee folk
till the sun lights up the day?

Will you never tell of the secret dell
where the faerie laughter rings,
or the empty bed I’ve left behind
till the early blackbird sings?

Oh I'll take you where the faeries play
in the midnight moonlit trees
but you’ll never return to the land of men
and you’ll never sleep tight in your bed again
and all you can do if you miss your friends
is whisper their names on the breeze.