Tiny flower spreading carpets of blue.
Fairy beds you may find, hidden deeply,
soft and azure, cradling of woven dreams
coloring our memories so true.
The little ones sleep with the night,
and yet, some dance, under fairy lamps,
glowing lightly with sunlight captured
from the day and promised to be bright.
Dainty blue sweetness does call,
scenting air and dawn, rising with mist
across the morning and touching our hearts.
Little blossoms that will never grow tall.
This glorious blue, spreading so far.
This gift of nature, appearing suddenly
where once there had been nothing
the night before, this bright star...
this 'Forget-me-not', this blue..
and the fairies, rustling in their beds.
The morning dew laying down jewels
on opening buds, and memory is the hue.
Written by Camomile/P. Anderson
Copyright © 1999 -2001
This poem may not be copied or reproduced.
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Copyright © 1999 -2001 by P. Anderson
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