Unto the hills the children did call.
Voices hollowed rising... then echoing they fall.
Coming forth from the distant greens and greys,
The wee people race forward to hear the peoples praise.
To the valley the Fay folk scurry.
Delighted children is to whom they hurry.
Flowers blossom as the winged ones pass.
Dew slow to drop, falls on the grass.
On this night as the May pole finds home.
And humble happy druids read from their tome.
And lads and lass come from miles and miles around
Just to find their place near the Oak on the hollowed ground.
And as their voices ring out through the hillside
All the woodland folk come out from their hide.
Old men tell the boys, dance with the foxgirls, drink up your beer.
The days are here once more filled with spring times cheer.
Drums beat the rhythm and bells call the hour.
Milk left this night shall nigh turn sour.
For in the dancing and the singing
The fay have fortune for their bringing.
If one turns to listen to the timid Fairy fly.
So many lessons can be learned, just from that spy.
Listen to the crickets and listen on this day
Should one listen close this is what they say..
Sing a fire song to the Elven king
Hum a whisping tune to the fairies wing
Call upon the stars with the satires pipe
Know the heavens lady by the moon this night
