Mayfly Poem by Jennifer Jenkins

flutter beyond Stream,
O Nymph of lichen green;
your Soldier awaits
by the river lye;

fly with Youth and graceful tail
as you plunge to mouths
of silver spoons,
eluding the lips of Lamprey.

fare your beauty to the Dragon
and rest upon the flower yew;
moult your wings
one last time, and shine-

hold high, Damselfly!
the soft spring hour
lures him, full and grown
to swoon in your tiny legs;

to grasp you in his weapon,
cling fast in mid-air
and in rhythmic demise,
stroke
beneath your slender gills.