In an opal dream cave I found a fairy: / Her wings were frailer than flower petals, / Frailer far than snowflakes. / She was not frightened, but poised on my finger, / Then delicately walked into my hand. / I shut the two palms of my hands together / And held her prisoner. / I carried her out of the opal cave, / Then opened my hands. / First she became thistledown, / Then a mote in a sunbeam, / Then--nothing at all. / Empty now is my opal dream cave.
-Katherine Mansfield
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