Twirling skirts on windy days,
Faeries dance in strengthened sun rays…
That feverish swing
Pulls up everything,
As nature together sashays!
The scent of those heady perfumes,
Breaks into once darkened rooms…
Bringing thoughts of love
To one’s turtle-dove,
Or anyone else you’d assume.
That swishing of skirts in the trees
Brings out those pesky birds and bees…
Although bees may die
It’s all in the eye,
Trying so hard for a squeeze!
Things may slow down in hot weather,
‘Though no guarantees altogether…
That rhythm of life.
Must surge til the end, hell-for-leather!