The new mum arrived with great expectations---beginning to pop darts of bright color the minute it was set on the outside table, and the container of lush red blooms out front is almost ready for the trip indoors.
The sun is more bashful, mornings, about that first trip across the back lawn,
And the berries on the fence-hedge are brightening, from their copper first-turn:
To the bright red of their softest transparent ripeness, like some Fairy-chef’s delusions of grandeur in pursuit of Jello:
The rose-hips on the hedge-rose, small as match-heads, show their colors amidst their brave tatters, like the too-bright rouge and bitten lipstick of a faded courtesan:
The Fairy Gate---the shape of the arch overgrown and the stones foot-scattered by scampering children, is swung wide in welcome still. The little arbor rack awaits the small hats and shoes and ribbons of our tiniest guests.