At the bottom of the garden ‘neath a shady hawthorn hedge
Lived the Pillywiggin, Fairy of the Rose.
He was kind and he was gentle in the way that fairies are
And how long he had lived there no-one knows.

He lived among the brambles, the Fairy of the Rose
With all the little garden creatures there.
A solitary feature was the Fairy of the Rose
With silken dress and golden, sunlit hair.

The Fairy of the Rose, you see, had a special job.
His task would take him almost all the day.
He’d weave the moss together to make little fairy frocks
For fairies near and fairies far away.

His wings were finest petals, from roses, pink and pale and fragrant.
‘Twas the pinky wing’ed petals made him strong.
Without his wings he’d die, you see, he needed them to live.
They gave him strength to sing his fairy song.

A face peeped through the wrinkled bark
The spirit of the Hedge, The Hamadryad, wicked enemy.
It watched the fairy working and with an evil wicked grin,
Cast a spell and said, “Ha! You’ll no longer be!”

The Hamadryad plucked a petal from the fairy’s back.
The fairy fell, so sad and limp and weak.
He quietly sank onto the grass, he softly sighed and then
The fairy died ‘ere he could even speak.

In the Autumn when the petals fall, remember then this tale
Of fairies, sprites and magic all around.
The petals you see lying there remind you that there are
Some little fairies lying on the ground.