She is rare of face, with an airy grace,
But evil fills her breast,
By day she sleeps, by night she creeps,
And the forest knows no rest.

When the black bats fly through th cold night sky
She leaves her bed of ferns,
And softly moves on cloven hooves,
As the earth beneath her burns.

When the fairy folk, those wisps of smoke
Who flit about the flowers,
Sit in the shade of a green grass glade,
They whisper of her powers.

They sit and tell of the evil spell
That turned her soul to stone,
And drove their queen of the fairy green
To the deep dark woods alone.

Now evermore on forest floor
The star-crossed fairy flows,
Her fiery eyes slay butterflies
And still the fragrant rose.

Do not go near this forest drear
Where lives no bird or bee,
Beware! Beware! of the fairy fair
Who bears the name of She.

~Jack Prelutsky~