Having expunged the busy fairies
From the fairy-tales and woods
Having blamed the step-mothers
For the mother's sins and turned
Her into a witch who thinks
All the magic is hers even then
They don't stop at mocking
The gods and the little people
But put their daughters in cages
And turn their sons into stones
Until only a flower can free them
From the noisy spell of the world
The cowslip or the maiden's breath
That grew here once alone
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