Well, Monstrous I wanted to post this here. This is where it began for me and this is how it will end.
I came here for a good board to post on where I had people that were like me, and at the same time I discovered what brought me happiness. Fairies. Now I have no more love for here, and I will put in what I'd like to be remembered by.
A poem I have written
Good bye! Fair well! Till we meet again!
I came to this place of beast looking for a friend.
I danced the Sheerie, I pranced like Fay
But now I regret even coming here to this very day.
The sad fiddle and the power of the pipes was in me
Now the music’s gone, sad like the sea.
Oh, how I miss my land.
So green, lively and grand…
But here I sit now feeling the Reaper’s cold hand
I’ll always be there, maybe not at all.
Nothing but a mem-o-ry standing there firm and tall.
I’ll be with the Fairies, in their halls so full
With full of face, lots of dance, and hardly any rule!
But you may all wonder where I have gone
Like you’d miss the dawn.
You’ll ask yourself “where’s the little fairy boy?”
But I’m always everywhere, like your favorite toy
I’m way up in the clouds, with a great big grin
Dancing on the North Winds
On a Sabbath morning... the inmates of this little hamlet had all gone to church, all except a herd-boy, and a little girl, his sister, who were lounging beside one of the cottages; when, just as the shadow of the garden-dial had fallen on the line of noon, they saw a long cavalcade ascending out of the ravine through the wooded hollow. It winded among the knolls and bushes; and, turning round the northern gable of the cottage beside which the sole spectators of the scene were stationed, began to ascend the eminence toward the south. The horses were shaggy, diminutive things, speckled dun and gray; the riders, stunted, misgrown, ugly creatures, attired in antique jerkins of plaid, long gray cloaks, and little red caps, from under which their wild uncombed locks shot out over their cheeks and foreheads. The boy and his sister stood gazing in utter dismay and astonishment, as rider after rider, each one more uncouth and dwarfish than the one that had preceded it, passed the cottage, and disappeared among the brushwood which at that period covered the hill, until at length the entire rout, except the last rider, who lingered a few yards behind the others, had gone by. 'What are ye, little mannie? and where are ye going?' inquired the boy, his curiosity getting the better of his fears and his prudence. 'Not of the race of Adam,' said the creature, turning for a moment in his saddle: 'the People of Peace shall never more be seen in Scotland.'
And like the Fairies of British Isles I take my leave of this Forum. Seen, and unseen, but never forgotten. Now I'd like to be remembered while the sad songs of the Bagpipes clash with the grace, and quickness of the fiddle.
And the road goes ever on.