Back in the cottage, each birthday present,
Lay out by the fireplace, open and pleasant,
So many to count, so many to see,
Reflecting the light of the holiday tree,
Shining with garland and hanging baubles,
And candy caned branches, and bright candelabras.
A locket, a necklace, a bracelet, and combs,
Hand made from jade, and hardwood, and stone.
Bright skirts and blouses, and covers for bed,
Faerie grown, and pixie sewn, with glitter golden thread.
Chocolate and sweets and nuts in blown jars,
Angora gloves and scented rubs, and salted ocean bars.
But one final present still sat ungiven,
From Faerie Queen to Perlameen, yellow wrap & ribbon.
Perlameen took it, and held it, and shook it,
Moving her hands to gently undo it.
Then as the bow, was untied slow, to savor the occasion,
10 butterflies on the sides, flew off in wondrous fashion.
There inside, revealed in pride, with care & affection,
A little box of wooden stock, took Perlameen’s attention.
What is it? What is it? What is it? What is it?
Poepi and Perlameen shouted excitement.
“Not an it, or a what, but a who!” said the Queen.
“Now open it up, so my gift may be seen!
What it holds is for you, and your sister too!
New friends to share, in whatever you do!”
Yet as Perlameen tried, the lid would not budge.
She twisted and turned it, ‘til the Queen gave a nudge.
“Try blowing it gently, blow right on the wood!”
And with curtsies and bows, faeries nodded they should.
So inhaling deep, and puffing up cheek,
The girls blew hard, on the box, warm and sweet,
‘Til all its wood shimmered, brightly in gold,
And the warmth of the box made their breaths feel like cold.
Tink tinkles of music, sprinkled chimes in their ears,
While tiny white light spots, bright as fire flies, appeared.
Then beginning to open, the little lid pinged,
And inside, back to back, with flat folded wings,
Slept two tiny pixies, two snoring faerielings.
Languidly, slowly and opening eyes,
Each tiny pixie stretched her arms free,
Standing up gently with looks in surprise
At Poepi and Perla blowing in glee.
"I'm Snowdrop!" Poepi's said, striped black sox, dress of blue,
Beating her wings, in greeting and jest.
"I'm Waterfall!" said the other, dark green dress, striped sox too,
Flying circles and loops, sprinkling dust on the rest.
“They like you” said the Queen, eyes all a gleam.
“We do!” said the two, who landed to sit,
Upon each girl’s shoulder, faces a-beam,
And laughed and rolled over as soon as they lit.
After that the room clapped hysterical loud,
And the tearful Queen smiled, happy and proud.
But the throng was not long, for a grave sounding horn,
Cried alarm from outside, loud and forlorn.
Flat strewn outside, fallen man lay in snow,
While falcon circled high, shrieking its cry,
So close to shelter in cottage below,
But too slow to get there, before he should die.
Tired, exhausted, freezing, weathered,
Sight growing dimmer, failing forever,
At least he would pass with this brother, together,
Hunting horn handy, falcon unfettered.
And as last light of life, fled his cold eyes,
He remembered the days of better times,
Shared with his brother, side by side,
Long before doing the Giant’s crimes.
Now on his back, looking up to the sky,
He dreamt that he saw two small pixies fly by,
As his breath collapsed, with a cough and a sigh.