One day in August,
a few years ago,
I went for a walk
Camera in tow.
I passed some thistles
With seeds downy ripe
A fine breeze tugged at
Each seed's fluffy kite.
Could I catch the dance
Of down in the breeze?
Could my fingers and
lens do it? Oh, please!
This little fairy
Danced free-what delight!
And flew on its way
Playing in the light.
Another puff came,
More fairies danced free:
They followed the first
Skipping through the trees.
