with wings of spun glass,
you flit about the grass
and land on my hand.
Small pearls hang in poplars,
honeysuckle perfumes a breeze,
the swallowtail zigzagging--
fairy of the flowers.
Drinking the marigold's mystery,
there are jewels on your body,
you flutter in the air
with wings like spun glass.
When wild strawberries droop
on the woodland trail,
and the rain crow lifts songs,
you flit about the grass.
In shimmering robes of silk
that catch the sunlight,
you fold your wings
and land on my hand.
--Brenda Kay Ledford
