Wreath my hair in butterflies,

let wildflowers garland my throat,

weave green-gold grasses

about my wrists,

and place birdsong

in my heart.

Read to me the Moonbeam tome,

let fireflies light my path,

recite to me in crickets’ chant,

and stitch starlight

as my wrap.

For my tongue tastes of switch grass

and falling leaves,

my foxfire smile has dimmed —

I watch the days so lightly pass,

and hear Autumn

in Summer’s breeze.

–C.Birde