by Mary Brunini McArdle
Know there are spirits in your garden:
They won’t be present until dusk,
And even then you’ll not be certain
They aren’t shadows.
One has a single pair of limpid wings,
And heart-shaped face with pointed chin;
Her skirt of wine hibiscus.
Watch carefully the fireflies;
There may be other forms astride them,
Clothed in the petals of a rose.
The sound of singing comes from buttercups
Where seated wind sprites praise
The crescent moon.
And every time you hear the croaking of a frog,
A princess hides beneath the shrubs,
Wearing green satin and a crown of pearls,
Still searching for her golden ball.
Copyright © 2005 by Mary Brunini McArdle