Meadow Magic

In a country garden
near a worn out gate
I feel magic in the air.

As the breeze blows by
and the morning dawns
there are dew drops in her hair.

She's a tiny thing
on a toadstool tall
gazing in a looking glass.

Small booted feet
wearing shades of pink
such a pretty little lass.

She has golden wings
long flowing hair
she flies from bloom to bloom.

Chasing bumble bees
across garden paths
on a sunny afternoon.

Rides a maple leaf
down a running stream
trails her fingers in cold water.

On this lazy day
in the month of May
she is December’s daughter.

With a tinkling laugh
an occasional giggle
she brightens a cloudy day.

As she dons her hat
on a tilted head
and quickly flies away.