Céilidh of the Fairies

Hearts are like butterflies,
whose time is short and unknown.
Like dawn through gauze
on a quiet vale,
the fairies’ Céilidh,
with sensitive eyes one may foresee.

I'm grateful, because I saw and experienced it,
witnessed respect surge through every cell.
A glance, which accepts and trusts
and sees in the other a deeper good;
helps bring them out of themselves
and reach through to the other.
Sleep descends into the arms of confidence.

Hearts timed to a butterfly's, through it all;
through the teenagers’ microcosmos,
the hopeless car repairs,
and sleepless summer nights,
the endless unpaid invoices.

When two is one, no matter,
every night will see the dawn.
In the light of will-o'-the-wisp,
this home of butterflies,
they blur into each other,
safe when the earth breaks and there is no hope there.

And there is nothing light or to be belittled,
nothing usual.
But it is a huge and unaccustomed type of being,
rare,
which is nearly dead to extinction.

In front of which they pale,
those who never dared to fly.

To Anna and Andy <3 21.9.2019
Thank you for translation, Paul Raggat and Raisa Haikala