a fairy I cannot catch* It taunts my curious eyes in blossomed green; that light elusive sprite which mocks my sight, in gardens where that fae comes out at night to dance among the flowers' subtle sheen.
This fairy is disguised by buzzing lamps; by day she hides in flapping butterflies. In every blade of dewey grass and damp reflective flower's gloss she hides. She dies
whenever someone says they don't believe; as children wish on dandelions, she lives. And flower's dust is magic for her breed: spring's silent sparkling fairies. She gives
me joy in every fleeting light I see; I cannot help but love her mystery.