I rise here in the early morn,

shadows fleeing before the dawn,

The sun will soon usurp the moon

To offer us its golden boon.

But there are times I wish the night

would linger still, with its moonlight.

Another night, I dreamed again

The gloaming of the Fairy Glen.

Oberon was the Fairy King,

Of him the legends softly sing

And naught of him was ever seen,

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without Titania, his queen

and in the night, a fey mad face

dreamed now a mysterious place

From morning now, till dusk again,

They dance within the Fairy Glen.

Now shadowed wings and magic spells,

darken the hearts that here do dwell,

With staves and spears, Oberon's folk

weave magic with their mist and smoke,

with incense and cinnamon sweet,

they obfuscate their bright retreat,

with sorcery, they mask their den

in shadows now, the Fairy Glen.

I hear a trill, a voice sublime,

that stills the cold passage of time.

Magic fire and arcane frost,

Fae-born dreams, and immortals lost

Beneath the pall of navy night,

Now trapped in webs and fairy light

Take care, then, if you wander in

The gloaming of the Fairy Glen.