The End of May.
Originally posted on Purplerays:
* The End of May The fragrant air is full of down,Of floating, fleecy thingsFrom some forgotten fairy townWhere all the folk wear wings. Or else the snowflakes, soft arrayedIn dainty suits of lace,Have ventured back in masquerade,Spring’s festival to grace. Or these, perchance, are fleets of fluff,Laden with rainbow seeds,That…
* The End of May The fragrant air is full of down,Of floating, fleecy thingsFrom some forgotten fairy townWhere all the folk wear wings. Or else the snowflakes, soft arrayedIn dainty suits of lace,Have ventured back in masquerade,Spring’s festival to grace. Or these, perchance, are fleets of fluff,Laden with rainbow seeds,That…
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