Fairies In the Garden
My garden brings the fairies,
you will never know the hour.
The sun may just be peeping
past the apple tree in flower.
See them? No! But I discern
pixie clues they leave behind:
the fragrant thyme they danced upon . . .
I am always sure to find
a dewdrop mirror clinging
to a blossom hanging low;
I hear their tinkling laughter
when the breezes softly blow.
Sometimes I think I spy them
riding on a firefly's back
at dusk above the garden,
but their pathway's hard to track.
Jumping off, hiding themselves
in moss blankets--soft delights--
their flying steeds unharnessed.
"Go to sleep, my garden sprites."
Copyright, 5/1/2014
Faye Gibson
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