Rose Fyleman

1877_1957 / Nottingham


MY cat Timothy who has such lovely eyes
Is really not a cat at all ; it's only a disguise.
A witch cast a spell on him a long time since
And changed him to a ****-cat ; but once
he was a Prince.

On warm clear nights when a big moon is out
He steps into the garden and never turns

But walks down the path with his quiet

proud air
He knows that the fairies are waiting out


The fairies go a-dancing, a-dancing in a ring,
He sits in the middle with a crown like a


High on a throne in the middle of the grass,
And the fairies stop capering to curtsey as

they pass.

Some day, some day when the spell is done
He will be a Prince again. Won't that be

He will come to seek me and kiss my lily

And take me on his foaming steed to reign in

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