Fairy, when she was not dreaming,
Fairy, when she was not scheming
Wondrous tales of gnome and elf,
Oft drew pictures for herself,
Fanciful as they could be:
Two are here for you to see.
This is Peace: a little maiden
Who has gleaned all through the day,
Going home with arms well laden,
When the sunlight fades away.
This is War: a baby brother
Threatened by a wasp that stings,
Getting ready soon to smother
That fierce yellow thing with wings.