The Spirit of the Garden

The spirit of the garden

pokes her impish pixie face

deep within the dew-glittering

blossoms that greet the

morning sun, kissing them 

with the fervour of her

gardening soul, humming

softly to herself in echo of

the cardinal trilling welcome

to dawn as she directs the

traffic of hummingbirds and

bees, gently pats twining vines

into order, flicking spent blooms

\with her green, slender fingers,

speedily absenting herself as

the gardener makes his smug

appearance to assess the

order of his gardening day.