They blew in the wind softly, this way,
that way. They were not disappointed
when they saw the scissors, rather they
braced themselves sweetly and shone
with willingness. They were on tall and
tender poles, with wheels of leaves.
They were soft as the ears of kittens.
They felt warm in recognition of the
summer day. A dozen was plenty. I held
them in my arms. They were silent the
way the deepest water is silent. If they
wondered where they were going they
didn't show it, as they sprinkled freely
over my shirt and my hands their
precious gold dust.
= Susannah Wood