Pixies prance on whispers or a whistle in the breeze
They feast on meals of morning dew, perhaps a crumb of cheese
And tip toe on the air that breaths through branches in the rain
Taking tiny, microscopic things that cannot be explained

An empty spool of yellow thread, a missing safety pin
Perhaps an extra apple core within your garbage bin
We may not ponder on thought of things that we have missed
These thoughts compel me to believe that fairies might exist

The smallest loss, sensibly, might be overlooked
A button missing from a blouse, a page gone from your book
For next time when this happens, stop and be aware
Be mindful where you put your things, a fairy might be there.