Like a Dream

Sometimes

I think

I dreamed it all

when asparagus grew wild;

lady slippers

peeped at me

from the woods path’s crooked mile.

Sometimes

I think

a world of fairies

slipped down from the hills

and laid

the pretty things about

where moss

grew damp and still

with glint of sun

like diamonds

on rain-teared

holly leaves.

Sometimes

I think

I dreamed it all.

What a tale

do fairies weave!

-Joy S. Barefoot