by Gail Denham
Tinker Bell in her leafy green
and canary yellow dress was no match
for the flitting bright orange and black
butterfly who lit on Uncle Benjy’s head,
on the bald pate between
his salt and pepper ring of hair.
Uncle Benjy turned all kinds
of pink flush, holding his breath so’s
not to disturb the friendly monarch.
Here in the Monarch capital of the world,
azure skies churned with hordes
of winged beauties. We felt blessed
to be in the midst of this glory,
sipping bronze sweet tea and nibbling
red cherry tarts that Aunt Hester made,
knowing our souls would glow white,
and we’d rest here until the purple shadows
of evening unfolded, with amethyst, aqua,
and peach painting skies over nearby hills.