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,


    Stolen story; please report.


    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.