In the softest rain flowers fell among this mystic wood
A wanderer fell upon her path entranced there he stood
Across her face, nimble fingers of moonlight gently play
Lights pulse and weave in eyes of gleaming grasping gray

Gossamer gems entangled in tendrils of auburn hair
Glint ever so softly as he met her sad uncertain stare
Upon her silk lined lips lies a flute ringing melodies pure
She then reached out to stroke him, tortured and unsure

Across his face, cool fingers of beauty hesitantly play
Leaving the dying wanderer withering, weak and gray
Sadly returning to her flute – charms no man can evade
A black silhouette, the fairy continued her moonlit serenade