While cellos of the bullfrogs call,
Moon-mother spins a thin, sheer veil,
Softens the face of night until
Each feature is made beautiful.
I hear the laughter of a troll
Who gaily twirls each tinkling bell
Of silvered aspens. Fairies smile
In lily-yachts upon the pool.
Midwest Chaparral
First in Consonance Contest, Spring 1952
