The Faery Grove Poem by Patrick William Kavanagh

What a web the little folk can weave,
For when this weary life has grown too glum.
The faeries help us leave help us leave,
to find a land where sorrow has no sway.
Wearily I sat in mournful mood, in the quiet garden, where for so long the ancient pergola had stood.
and in my mind I saw the faeries dance.
And the tinkling of their laughter lit my gloomy trance.

Leaves that once were wrought from iron seemed to grow,
and silken spiders cast their web into the weave,
With dreamy eyes, I watch the wee folk dance and fly, -
such beauty to delight the sleepy eye.

This world holds little pleasure for me now,
My weary heart has almost beat it's last.
And tells me it is time to go,
I can no longer go on living in the past.

I said goodbye to all my sorrows and my joys,
To all my friend and lovers, gone before me, -One last kiss goodbye
I thanked the little people for the wondrous spell they'd weaved
and as I slipped into my final sleep, my spirit took its leave.