Every day, a photograph, a poem.
In my garden, this time of year, the delicate woodruff bloom in a blanket of green and white, which, I imagine, are where fairies come to rest after hours of dancing through new buds and blossoms, singing songs for those of their kind still frolicking through the yard, unseen by us.
So I added a little one in the yard to coax them into letting us see them. I’ve caught a glimpse a time or two, a sparkle here and there on a bright sunny day. I know they are there.
Among the woodruff,
delicate flowers of white,
fairies whisper songs.Sheri Edwards
Geeky Gramma ~~
Retired Middle School Language Arts/Media Teacher ~~
Writer and Thinker~~
Art from the Heart