In a soft bed of deep green leaves
Sleeps a tiny fairy
Shimmering wings slightly fluttering
At the pleasantries of dreams
The golden dawn
Awakes her with a tender kiss
She yawns, stretches
Her trumpet-flower dress billowing around her
Circling over the park, as silent as a humming bird
She sprinkles creativity over a frustrated artist
Then watches his steady, callused hands
Paint the grove of maples as the rising sun licks their trunk
She smiles,
Content with their morning work
And flys over to an old willow to rest
Not hearing or seeing the boys whispering
Just the agonizing pain as the BB hits her back
And then nothing
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