Among the flowers of the field
a world of fairies lives concealed,
though should you be one who believes,
a sprite might peek out through the leaves to be revealed.

Perhaps she'll sit astride a snail
who through lush meadows wends his trail,
or maybe you will see her sup
sweet nectar from a buttercup, Titania's ale.

But mystic lands of creatures wee
remain impossibility
for those who cast a cynic's eye
and see not magic, but a lie, in mystery.