that swirls to a fretful eddy,
Thumbelina in a grimace of gas
and the need of a Mother's suckle
opens vein lidded eyes and mewls
into a window of brown-eyed hope.
Music as poetry in entrainment
mirrors the water colored view
of an artist's communion
and summons a pink sleep
that coos a lilac prayer.
Maia is waiting to fulfill the hope
and then flit with gossamer wings
to cornflowers and bluebells
where she'll tender the hearts
of an unsuspecting clan.
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