Little girls in summer white dresses–
Fairies at play in bright light of noon—
Soapy bubbles float to pop on sunglasses,
as I sit in the garden where turtle doves croon.
Too many years wasted cutting back weeds–
Investing my time tilling good soil into poor dirt–
bearing insult as birds pecked new seeds–
avoiding wasp sting through my thin shirt.
Peace now though the dog still barks in his kennel;
but he is nothing to think about now.
I am safe amid chrysanthemum and fennel;
He is old and leaving me, anyhow.
Soon, I will be like my fairies that play
with no other thought than to blow my bubbles far away.
By A.E. Wallace