The flower maiden dances high
She dances through the silent wood
With yellow flowers in her hair.
She dances fast: the wood’s in song
The spluttering of a breaking bud
The rustling in a wildcat’s lair.
The flower maiden dances low
So all around is green and gay
With nightingales and flowers fair.
Copyright Simon Banks 2012
(and that’s the last time I’ll write that! Happy New Year! Happy Old Year for backwards time travellers.)