Nestled between two gnarled tree rootsIs a fairy house withA sunken floor of red clay,A triangular roof of interlocking sticks,And a winding path of pebbles leading to aBark door.

Inside, a sand-colored stone serves as a nightstand,And next to it lies a bed with aMoss mattress and maple leaf bedspread.A blank scrap of paperAnd a pencil sharpened down to an inchWait expectantly on the nightstand,Placed there by the childWho constructed the fairy house,With hope of receiving a message from anyDiminutive guests.

But the paper remained as blank as ever,And the child abandoned her belief of fairies.Though perhapsShe overlooked the mussed bedspread,Or disregarded the chip in the bark door,Or failed to notice the rose petal on the floor.Perhaps she overlooked the fact that fairiesCannot write.