The Dance of the Little People

by Thomas Vaughan Jones
(Liverpool UK)

There’s going to be a party,
we’ve made a fairy ring,
to celebrate the birthday
of Finn, the fairy king.

His majesty announced it
for everyone to hear.
I’m making the arrangements
while Murphy brings the beer.

I’ve invited cousin Michael,
Himself from Donegal,
the scrawny Sean McCafferty
and Padraic Mor McCall.

The Queen of Connemara
has promised she’ll be there,
wearing her best tiara
and moonlight in her hair.

Mick Doyle will play his fiddle
while Connelly calls the tune.
We’ll dance a fairy two step
beneath a fairy moon.

And any mortal, passing by
will never hear a sound,
for deaf the ear and blind the eye
when fairy folk abound.

Each tiny elf and fairy,
each magic Leprechaun,
will dance the dance of angels
until the break of dawn.

Then, when the evening's over;
Before the brand new day,
the toadstools and the clover
must all be put away.

Though Humankind may look askance
upon our fairy ring,
they’ll never know we held a dance
in honour of our king.