As I was picking bluebells in the dell,
I heard a noise behind the gnarled oak tree,
whose branches had been twisted by a spell
that to this day is cloaked in mystery.
What I then saw I promised not to tell,
and won't reveal unless you guarantee
you will not share one secret I expose,
nor will you my identity disclose.

Below the knotted oak's bent limbs I spied
a caravan of snails at crawling pace.
Upon each shell a fairy sat astride,
who rode her sluggish steed with gladsome grace,
so she could be a maiden for the bride,
a princess slim of form and fair of face.
Thus I became an uninvited guest
at ceremonies magical and blessed.