Chasing Moonbeams
Folderol and balderdash,
nonsensical, sweet whimsy.
Musical, so airily,
she prances round the elm tree.
Mimsy do, in flimsy blue
with bells upon her head, ho!
Where she goes, I do not know,
exquisite, never chintzy.
A woodland sprite, her face alight,
she coyly beckons fireflies.
Off into the dark, they go,
playing out a dance mid-flight.
Mirthfully, her friends in tow,
she’s chasing moonbeams in the night.
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