We Wildlings

We wander. We whim. We swim 
in streams and bathe in moon. 

We swoon over sunrise, or we 
sometimes we sleep in. We’ve 

cast our shoes to chasms and 
collapse in fits and spasm of 

laughter. We’ve decided happy 
(ever after) means home among 

the trees, dancing only with 
dragons as long as we please 

and then planting our fabulous 
filthy feet in the mud and all 

that luscious good earth. Our 
rebirth song echoes through 

the breeze as we worry not 
of waiting. We wish. We kiss 

frogs and hope they stay slimy. 
And blimey, but the only bib

-bidi bobbidi boo we need 
is the ghosts of faeries scaring

up wildflower seeds to scat
-ter more color for our hungry 

eyes. Surprise! We’re wild. We’ve 
left all royal pains behind. We 

wind our clocks backwards and 
watch for whippoorwills. We still 

bow, but only to the wow of sky.
We giggle. We grin. We sigh. We win.

::
In April, we wildlings poem.

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