She could charm the birds from the trees
She sits and then she has a good stare
What at, well she has no idea.
Then fills her lungs with fresh air.

She is just the fairy of the flower of the  hour
She sits in the midday breeze.
Swishing her hair with some sort of power
and rests her elbows on her knees.

Her tummy is empty as it always is
Collecting berries is too much of a chore.
She would sooner smile at the blackbird
and ask if he could collect some more.

The fairy of the flower of the hour
blowing time capsules to the wind.
Saying one o'clock little dandelion
scattering seeds over everything.