The Pink Fairy Boy Poem

Early in the mornings,
when children are still sleeping,
Or late, late at night-time,
beneath the summer moon,
What are they doing,
the busy fairy people?
Could you creep to spy on them,
in silent magic shoon,

You might learn a secret,
among the garden borders,
Something never guessed at,
that know one knows or thinks:
Snip, snip, snip, go busy fairy scissors,
Pinking out the edges
of the pedals of the Pinks!

Pink Pinks, white Pinks,
double Pinks, and single,   Look at them and see
if it's not the truth I tell!
Why call them Pinks
if they weren't pinked out by someone?
And what but fairy scissors
could pink them out so well?