One starry night in London, and on that very night,

as Wendy went to take a nap, a shadow caught her sight.

She heard a flute and to her shock, she thought she caught a man,

whizzing by her window light, who fable labeled Pan.

Polite and boyish, half grown up and stubborn as could be,

trailing him, his faerie friend no bigger than a flea.

“Shadow! Oh my, Shadow!” cried the cheeky little boy,

as he dove into the massive mound of painted English toy.

But then, he heard a footstep and saw a startled lass,

which caused him to trip and somehow slip into the grinning glass.

“Excuse me?” said the little girl, “Can I be of some help?”

as Peter stifled quite the blow to mask his boyish yelp.

“I believe I’ve lost my shadow. Can you help me little girl?

It’s about yay high, and sort of shy and has a matching curl.”

 

“I believe I’ve seen it, over there, in my old chest of drawers,

that wouldn’t be a total wreck if I had done my chores.

Dear boy, if I can catch it, will you tell me where you’re from?

For I’d like to hear from mouth to ear, instead of tale from mum.”

 

“Alright” said Peter. “Quite alright. If you can sew it back,

I’ll tell you how I met the Queen and made her shadow crack.”

 

It took poor Wendy quite the hour to find the cheeky twin,

for when she sewed it, she fell flat and couldn’t let a grin.

“Here’s your shadow, Peter. I’m afraid I need a nap.

Maybe sometime, you’ll tell your rhyme and show your treasured map.

I need about an hour my dear, then together we can gawk

at that land, quite grand, where that Captain’s hand was eaten by a croc.”

The tired Wendy nodded off and awoke an hour later,

to meet eye-to-eye with a flustered fly atop a cheeky traitor.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that”, a giddy Peter said.

“When you make a deal, you just can’t peel and dish the dealings dead.

I suppose if you can read us boys some stories like our mothers,

I’ll take you back and lift the pact so you can see your brothers.

And if you make us supper, then perhaps we’ll let you go-

but it’s much too cold, and far too bold to fly you in the snow.

Maybe you should stay awhile, till the rose is back in bloom?

For who would want to venture back to clean an English room?

I’ll tell you just the story now, of the shadow and the Queen,

since I never disclosed, where much was posed

when I made such a scene.

I’m afraid I’m far too literal. I didn’t mean I’d tell you there,

for there’s work to be done in the land of fun, unless you’re not aware.

My faerie Tink, she needs a hand. Perhaps you’ll help her out,

before I tell you how the Queen then lost her famous pout.

Never make a deal with faeries, I should surely know

for Tink is the boss I dared to cross so many moons ago.”

-Amy Struthers