Back in her box on a bed of cotton wool
the January fairy closes her eyes with a tiny click.
Laid on wings of wire and net,
dusty tissue covering her faded dress.
Gauzy girl, she knows nothing of spring breezes,
has never seen a daffodil,
felt the warmth of a summer night.
The fall of leaves in autumn is a mystery -
she’s never seen the budding of the trees.
Each year she is surprised how big
the children have all grown.
Some years, a familiar face is gone…
Presents change their shape beneath her tree.
Teddies and building blocks,
dolls houses, skipping ropes and bicycles
More threads of silver from her tinsel crown
The star on her wand is just a little scuffed.
But it has been a good Christmas.
Put away for the last time –
next year there’ll be an artificial tree -
she smells the heady scent of pine,
queen of a vintage fairy tale.