Beautiful dragonfly, watching the night
over our Lair making sure all is right
his soft eyes miss not a trick
even tho the wick is not lit
his wings damp with dew
he is almost frozen
but morning’s sun stirs
him from his drowsing
he flexes his wings
he keen eyes open wide
looks round our lair
to see with surprise
the muse has moved the poets
to leave us a treasure
to ponder and wonder
a most superb gift
written with the delicate
touch of the poets hand.
Soaring Feather