O Iris, glittering apple of my eye!
You dainty silver imp, just like an elf
You magically appear upon a shelf
So arcane and so acrobatically high,
Then like a snow-leopard, you nimbly fly
Say eight feet down or so upon my bed
To land right on the pillow near my head,
My will-o-the-wisp, elusive butterfly!
As light as the feather of a seagull,
You fluttering flower-petal, by the breeze
Of your own inspiration you're impelled
To flit across the world with dazzling ease,
As free as alabaster clouds that scull
Across the firmament, never excelled!
Copyright 2005 Anissa Nedzel Gage