The elven born

There once lived a woman Who would a mother be For twelve long years a good man's wife but the child was not to see

She traveled to the standing stones And crossed into the green Where all the host of elven folk were dancing there unseen Through the night she bargained with the Queen of fairies all who sent her home at dawning with a babe beneath her shawl

How their home was joyful with a girl to call their own But soon they saw the years that passed would never make her grow The fairies would not answer her The stones were dark and slept A babe was all she asked for, and their promises they'd kept

There once lived a woman Who would a mother be For fifty years she rocked that babe it's said she rocks her still

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A short poem passed down through the ages. Common enough that everyone knows of it. Marks a clear distrust of elves and magic, very popular in places that don't have any magic users.