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| Lady Of The Glen |
| Banded in the smooth kiss of the sun she fluttered, from flower to flower in dawns light to taste the sweet dew collected with a joy uttered in a small voice within sparkles sight. She was the lady of the glen, no more than a mote, the dust of magic at her fingertips. She dressed in emerald green, the color of the folk. Her fine golden hair fell to her hips. She had no duties save the flowering of the valley, the blooms that she enriched. She raced dragonflies to the cattails in a sally, sang with birds in tiny pitch. She had no name and spoke not a word to understand, yet the trees bent to her wish. She tended with pride all the green of her fine land, even dandelions received her kiss. Not a sprite, nor woodland elf, no bigger than a thumb, a fairy with a nurturing hand. A grace to place on the beauty of the new opening bud. Fairy of the blossom stand. � 2000 DPMcClellan |
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