Fairies dream in books with hooks.
A gust of turning looks
their faces lit, a soft commotion,
the smiles turn a merry notion.
Exhibit something from inside,
a chance to fly, You stand to try.
The fires burns and light expressions,
the passing time- like a digression.
Of looking into the mirrors deep
and finding lonesome fortress-keeps.
A dragon lurks mid stone and grass
the gold is scattered where they pass.
The threshold opens to the senses
the views that sink this very notion.