The dragonfly rests upon aromatic petals, absorbing the gentle heat of the mature day.
Dragonfly, born of wisdom's sigh and beauty's lance, dance all these heady days not for my eye yet for self-happy flight.
The dragonfly was nature's magic; this springing to life of simple matter, of chemicals built of atoms, was so beautiful that one could easily believe this world was the art of a master creative.
The dragonfly's wings are more awe inspiring than any cold panes in cathedral frames.
Upon the crystal vase alight two dragonflies, delicate yet robust. I watch them dance over its surface, independent yet together, feeling the warmth of sunny rays.
And in the ambient air there came a dragonfly, a moment of playful blue to breathe a spark of joy into the daytime.
Come dragonfly into my palm, to touch soft and sensitive skin, so that my inner dragon may fly away to distant shores.