Starchild of the gentry, your fae smile melts this heart into the rivers of my Spring. Daffodils spill from my pocket, reaching for your diamond-bright gaze. But you desire daisies to braid into the brilliance of your sunshine hair.
On May eve, your sultry whisper turned the frozen crystals that lingered on my coat to butterflies—silvered sky-mavens on holiday. Your luminescent feet tiptoed through cranberry moss without crushing a tendril. Now, the colors of your frock vibrate with your laughter, painting the earth with your exhilaration. I dream of your strawberry hearts rushing up the mountainside, and pretend they are searching for me.
As I throw orange poppies in the hope to enrapture you, you command the sun to dry the earth of my tears. Ever elusive, you feed my withered flowers to your spinach.
You delight in the fires of the sky, enticing mortals to build them also on the earth. Thus, they dance with the bounce of fire and light, forgetting the pain of human toil. Then, you flood the fields with sunflowers, each encircled with leonine mane. All those bold faces turned toward the sun!
In this enchanted Summer, the swans admire your powder-blush wings by day, yet you carouse with bullfrogs at night. Riding the backs of dragonflies, your giggling inspires the wind, and porch chimes intone your song.
Enjoy companionship with your sisters of the bloom. As you toss gold coins to float as light on the water, I will watch those gifts turn again to dried leaves. Oh, how you tease, if only to amuse yourself as you tire of your season and seek to awaken the Lord of Autumn. Next year, I will bring more poppies . . .
. . . only for you, sweet Summer.
Jack i’ the Green
© Linda Manning, 2011