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Fairy Garden

Where leaves were lying, brown, gray, sere,
pressed down by snow of months from skies,
warmed by sun , subtly disappears;
enchantment creeps in, awes our eyes.

On a stem delicate as a hair,
they open in a miniature row:
white Dutchmen's breeches, pair by pair,
laugh at dead leaves unseen below.

By nature's call, "Arise and bloom."
they push dead and dry leaves aside.
With fern-like leaves, state, "Give me room."
Soon pure white with purple and pink abide.

As blue bell clusters crowd around.
Spring beauties pink striped petals state,
a fairy land close to the ground,
a small girl's eyes' fresh wonder rate.

How brief the show, rare to perceive,
and, yet, the woodland overall,
turns to a lace, hard to believe,
a short-lived floral fairies' ball.

As violets of the purple kind
draw attention, a royal dance
dog-tooth violets, maribels we find,
precious, not as in finance.

We marvel these posies we detect
gather a few for someone, then,
a back-looking view may reflect,
little girls picking flowers once again.

04/17/2016 Carol Welch
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