The hidden doors of Fairy Land

If you go a-picnicking and throw your scraps about,
You'll never see the little folk go running in and out;
And if you leave your orange-peel all littered on the grass,
You'll never go to Fairy Land or see the fairies pass.
    For empty tins and tangled strings
    And paper bags are not the things
    To scatter where the linnet sings.

So if you go a-picnicking remember you're a guest
Of all the tiny people, and you'll really find it best
To leave their ballroom tidy and to clear away the mess,
And perhaps you'll see a fairy in her newest dancing dress.
    But paper bags and broken combs
    Will really wreck the pixie homes
    And frighten all the tiny gnomes.

But if you go a-picnicking and you are elfin wise,
You'll maybe hear with fairy ears and see with fairy eyes;
The little folk will welcome you, and they will open wide
The hidden doors of Fairy Land, and you will pass inside,
    And maybe see a baby fay
    White cradled in a cherry spray,
    Although it is a Bank Holiday.

Another poem from long ago.

Went for a run this evening but it was mostly walking. I pretty much ran to get me where I wanted to be (the bluebell wood) more quickly. My new crow friend followed me through the wood again, luckily I went prepared with peanuts this time. Wonder if anyone else goes running with peanuts for crows? Hehe.