XI.

FIREFLIES 
(Rainy Day Lovers)

by Denise Goodwin©, 2015


A fine mist greets us at the garden gate;

the gate of wrought iron lace.

And from the Heavens you'll receive a sweet

pulsing kiss of saline from the ocean's breeze;

endeavoring to rise and faithfully bow at your feet.

The incessant rain is an eternal royal procession,

a royal minstrel of liquid feet.

And in this great land of Never,

fog surrounds the shore, twice kissed. 

 A fine filigree of gauzy mist,

gives no relief,  not once, not ever.

The clouds do not envy the sun,

for they've nothing to compare.

They loose their arrows on lords and ladies,

and let them tumble down from the air.

Yet, so sweet is the love of a rainy day;

it needs no petticoat or costume.

The bees do not stop making honey,

nor do the flowers fail to blossom.


The lady bug gives naught a shrug

from under her umbrella of leaves.

They all rise to spy from vines,

into the windows of lovers true;

Boring their eyes to admire the fireflies; 

naked, in a secret rendezvous, 

they fall and rise, 

through thin curtains of blue.