Drift among the bulrushes,
Each sweet and scented flower,
Lace wings that blur into life, cascading,
Miniature dewdrop shower.
Tiny body, matchstick arms,
The unknown minutiae stroke and feel,
Falling hair like spun gold cobweb,
A thing of nature, quite unreal.
Alight upon a flower’s petal,
Walk a path along its stem,
Little men and tiny ladies,
In worlds invisible to them.
So, fly away into the sunrise,
Summer’s here, the meadows sing,
Lighter than air, as fleet as fancy,
Simple disappearing thing.
(c) Paul Ferry 2005