Nestled between two gnarled tree roots
Is a fairy house with
A sunken floor of red clay,
A triangular roof of interlocking sticks,
And a winding path of pebbles leading to a
Bark door.

Inside, a sand-colored stone serves as a nightstand,
And next to it lies a bed with a
Moss mattress and maple leaf bedspread.
A blank scrap of paper
And a pencil sharpened down to an inch
Wait expectantly on the nightstand,
Placed there by the child
Who constructed the fairy house,
With hope of receiving a message from any
Diminutive guests.

But the paper remained as blank as ever,
And the child abandoned her belief of fairies.
Though perhaps
She overlooked the mussed bedspread,
Or disregarded the chip in the bark door,
Or failed to notice the rose petal on the floor.
Perhaps she overlooked the fact that fairies
Cannot write.