Shadow-cups...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun...

Poured through a sieve of leaves, 

you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops...

.... and larkspur blush and blue...

In shadow-cups, you catch the sun

Poured through a sieve of leaves, you run

A sense of distant sea-song through

Treetops and larkspur blush and blue

You laugh like a child free of care

You scratch sometimes and pull our hair

In periwinkle-twinkled glints

You steal our breath (and youth methinks)

With age-old form you fill fresh frames

With a storm of echoes and names

Some baby-new, some old, some gone

You fold your wings at dusk; at dawn

…you are a first-time butterfly

Shedding night’s dark cocoon of sky

You flit from Mercy’s ‘let there be’

And here you are, no entrance fee…

…you perch on pedestals wind-blown

As soft as tufts of thistle-down

You bob across the misty dell

And kiss each glist’ning flower belle

They blush beneath your plush caress

Forgetting that your fine finesse

Will wean the petal from its prime

And keen Her to the touch of time

Where, everywhere She looks she sees

A world caught between destinies

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun

Through meadows wild with Queen Ann’s lace

And golden rod, she wants to chase

Your essence ere you drip away

And drain the Cup of Summer's Day

© Janet Martin

…you are a first-time butterfly

And suddenly she wants to run

And drain shadow-cups full of sun...