Gasps and whispers escape from
budding lillies, roses and snowdrops
peeking shyly from the audience, for
the sake of their hearts and praises.
Unborn berries adorn the barely clothed
twigs for their performance, their lullabies
coming undone from their enchanting
dance. From the hopeless words woven
into the minds of weary children.
Humble pan flutes upon nimble fingers,
softening gazes against gossamer wings
while singing to the edge of the solstice.
Burning brightly beneath velvet twilight,
the orchestra entwined their repertoires.
Golden leaves fall from above, as the
festival of fools
taking hold of the wisdom the
world still held at its feet.
The fairies say
in meadows, where the sleeping queen once lay
Spells of love and hope from the day
when you were still mine
when you were still mine.