The Spell Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

She lives up on the hill
What a wonder to behold
Sometimes glimpsed within the garden
Trillium, roses, a sea of marigold

What a world, what a beauty
Powder blue dress and flowered hair
A bow to sash her gentle waist
Moving with a solemn carefree graceful air

What joy the flowers must feel
To be looked upon and seen at last
With playful eyes she drinks them in
Spreading her form upon the grass

There with a gaze now toward the sky
She listens for a voice to call her
But silently the clouds simply pass her by
Who owns the spell that she is under?