The little wax fairies,
Are delicate and small,
Always very airy,
And never very tall.
They gather wax from bees,
And cotton from the trees.
The Wax in caldrons melt,
While the cotton they pelt.
Dip dip hang dry,
Dip dip hang dry.
Here and there fairies fly,
Here and there fairies fly.
When the candles are wide,
And many then are made,
They deck the fields tide,
And every fairy glade.
Then starting little fires,
atop each little stem,
They sit around the fires,
So as to burn their hem.
And when the little pools,
Of wax are very deep,
They slide into the pools,
And give a little peep.
Skipping, slipping, dipping,
Swirling, whirling, twirling,
Zinging, swinging, springing,
A'whirling, hurling, curling.
Un'till the fires wane,
And only stumps remain,
Then at the dawn's first light,
Again renew their might.
For fear they'll loose production,
Over again each day,
Always new perfection,
So to collect their pay.
Each fairy is quite small,
With their head like a pearl.
And should they see your wall,
Might find you in a swirl.
And then you just might fall,
Awake as one of them,
With wings so very small.
Fear not your just a gem.
With ebony black hair,
And cream of milk your skin.
Taking lightly to air,
You will forever spin.
Katrina
