The Dance of the Mid-summer fairies

Brilliant, flaming orange and pastel pink,
Colors we were told not to combine:
Like poppies in a field, they boldly wink,
And flaunt their special colors, feeling fine.

Little girls with bouncy, flaxen curls,
Or those with shining locks of glossy black
Prance on in their un-troubled swirls,
And glory in the bounty, not the lack.

Oh, let them continue in this pleasure,
Unfeigned embracing of the joy of life.
Oh, let them not compare and parse and measure
And turn their precious innocence to strife.

Let them grow to be everything they can,
Unique in what they do and feel and think,
And find the present time piquant and grand,
Like brilliant poppies, lively orange and pink.