When Fairies Stop Hiding
It’s at the end of the day, but it’s not over just yet-
It’s time for young fairies, to grow wings and get wet.
Sneaking out to the sky, while the sun descends down-
Creating color for rainbows-before the rains hit ground.
Dusk is their favorite time, when the day turns dark-
Time to fly to the stars, and ignite their blue spark.
In between day and night, both a beginning and end-
For they love granting wishes, hiding in gardens they tend.
I Listen to the Radio
As I drive down country dirt lanes, I wonder as I look all around,
I see clean white washed fences, surrounding green rolling hills,
A dark horse nibbles grass unaware, he once won a triple crown,
Old trees sway as if on cue, while the sun rests on golden daffodils.
Children scamper happy to be free, as the sun winks conspiratorially,
It’s twilight- that time in between, when the day’s over, yet still not done.
The evening draws near, while the darkness descends albeit territorially,
Shadows linger like lovers hating to part, for time lost is like war never won.
Old stone rock walls remain, as grass peaks through, whispering of a time long ago,
When we lived off the land, and visiting friends gladly knocked on our door,
When we sipped lemonade in the shade, then strolled in town nodding hello,
This pastoralness still abounds, as we put pen to paper or paint a nearby grassy moor.
Featured Image: “Twilight Fantasies” by Edward Robert Hughes.
