Sunday, March 20, 2011
Triplet flowers of darkest blue.
No one would mistake them for nature's work,
And yet they are natural in this dream world
Where daisies turn navy, to make matches
Red hair and brown mingle in whispered secrets.
Twin nymphs smile their excitement,
Hoping to catch a glimpse of fairy dust,
Wondering if the fog hides pixies, magic and butterflies,
Winking at the solemn guards
Who hide nervous dreams of their own.
Hiking boots tromping along a trail,
Longer than the lives of those living.
Connected to generations of those who have walked the uneven ground,
Following dreams that were mere wisps when they started,
Solidifying into lives of earnest endeavor,
That create impossible flowers against brown hair;
So four more wood sprites can find their way out of the woods
On this morning's hike.