Faeries of the Middle-West

'Round the ruined haunts of Man, there the wee folk play,
in trees of dying orchards, hedges overgrown,
in fields all filled with weeds where once good corn was sown
dancing shadows, whiling wind, so they seem by day
as moonlight in the eye, at night, they melt away.
Listen now! It's too still for wind to make such moan.
It's pipes played beneath the till, hidden and unknown.

Do you hear distant laughter bubble from the earth?
They must laugh lest they weep at hubris bad to worse
It is human foolishness filling them with mirth
As Adam's sons race to embrace the fruit's dark curse,
Eve labr'ing so hard, in vain, for another birth
to bring forth man to live and sin to fill a purse.

For Man built here. Man tilled there. Man did all for naught.
He cut down trees, pulled up rocks, made the whole world square
but wind and rain, ice and snow and fire did not care.
If he'd lived a simple life, acting as he ought.
If he'd known that all he did would someday go to rot
If he hadn't been so greedy and only took his share
Then it would be the same, one hundred years from there.

So the faeries laugh and play where once humans rule,
Forged iron rusted to dust, now a faerie crown
And broken glass of windows, they wear for a jewel.
In abandoned farmhouses and deserted town
and all empty stores, show man to be a fool
It is here the leprechauns still will dance around.