My my fire.

Only fairies, angels can fly. 
Time might be able to grow wings on my back. 
Dream about, but, excelling in utopia airship 
bearing. March of fairy tales part of me 
poems lull. Gives a trip to 
Mist creates many of the fairies, gnomes of the world. 
Fools are wasting expensive day for sleeping. 
Who Fairies brilliant sunlight to turn off? 
It's a gnome, stubborn, aches all 
the beauty off. It is my my fire 
ailing fairy lights, in the middle of january 
fading glow of the evening sun. 
The darkness of fairy tales may be a woman in rock.