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    A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children
    A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children
    A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children
    Ebook153 pages30 minutes

    A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children

    By Ian Hall-Dixon

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    About this ebook

    A collection of Faerie Poetry, written in a traditional style, for the enjoyment of children and adults alike.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHI Publications
    Release dateOct 26, 2015
    ISBN9781519930897
    A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children
    Author

    Ian Hall-Dixon

    A career in engineering starting with an apprenticeship in the hard knock world of a north-east of England iron foundry, progressing  over the years as draughtsman, soldier, civil servant, and for the last thirty years, as a consultant design engineer. This latter period included for a great deal of authorship, often creative and sometimes innovative, but always focussed on the production of engineering specifications, schedules and technical reports. In 2003 a spark finally ignited the fire that had waited for many years to be lit and the openly creative process was under way, making me something of a late starter. The purely creative, mainly in the form of poetry, had to be carefully interleaved with the everyday job where a split personality may very well have been an advantage; I guess we can’t have everything in this life. I have always been a fan of science fact, fiction and speculation from being a young man and finally, I am now putting ideas into words.   Ian Hall-Dixon © 2014      contact:          ihd-creativewrite@outlook.com poetry:           allpoetry.com facebook:       facebook

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      Book preview

      A Collection of Faerie Poetry for Children - Ian Hall-Dixon

      Listen to the Trees

      T he trees of the forest have a story to tell,

      Of goblins and pixies and faeries as well,

      In the depth of a wood where good light’s not seen,

      In the dark and the gloom, where no child has been;

      Where the cool mist just lies to deaden all sound,

      Here is where the magic of the trees can be found,

      If ever you go into the heart of a wood,

      Always make sure that you’ve always been good;

      For a pixie may guide you, heaven knows where,

      Perhaps to the gloom of a goblin’s strange lair,

      But if you are quiet you’ll here the trees say,

      Beware now children, from the path don’t you stray;

      Here’s where the faeries in brightness abound,

      Looking for lost strangers who need to be found,

      Listen to the trees, they will know who you are,

      They’ll know you don’t live here but come from afar;

      If you are lucky the glorious bluebell,

      Will join in the story the trees want to tell,

      The whispering of trees, not loud, but so clear,

      Speaking these few words, if you can but hear;

      In the depth of the woods where there’s hardly a sound,

      You may become lost and then never be found.

      Faeries

      I have a little faerie,

      she appears within my shed,

      I always go to see her,

      before I go to bed.

      She fills my thoughts with colours,

      and pictures of lovely dreams,

      so that all around myself,

      becomes nothing that it seems.

      The beauty of this happening,

      still remains when I'm asleep,

      and when I wake tomorrow,

      the images I still keep.

      A faerie's beauty truly,

      is just there for all to see,

      but first we must think nicely,

      of each other, you and me.

      These lovely little faeries,

      they're with us every day.

      Only think just nice, warm thoughts,

      one will surely come to stay.

      And if you're really lucky,

      to you they will soon appear,

      for they like lovely feelings,

      not nastiness, hate or fear.

      Love and care for each other,

      in the way that faeries do,

      for the magic of their beauty,

      to be there for only you.

      Our Faerie

      T here once was a faerie,

      Seen gliding through air,

      Amusing herself,

      With never a care.

      She didn’t see me,

      While passing on by,

      On gossamer wings,

      She gently did fly.

      Lazily dreaming,

      While humming a tune,

      In raptures of joy,

      That warm afternoon.

      Bluebells were singing,

      As then they joined in,

      Such magical tune,

      There never has been.

      Buttercups turned round

      To

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