My Hollow

'Yellow stems,'
The Hollow said,
'Upon the meadow white.
The grass is new,
A veil of dew
Conceals the green from sight.'


'And tipped, the stems, is gold,'
She whispered in my ear.
'Oh, what a play,
A grand array
Of light come once a year.'


She took my hand in hers,
The Hollow glaucous bright.
And so we raced
So quickly paced
From shadow into light.


The meadow lay before us
And Hollow breathed a sigh.
She left my hand,
Walked forth to stand,
And lept into the sky.


There floated my dear Hollow,
A grin across her face.
Bathed in sun,
She laughed and spun,
Personifying grace.


She shattered into stardust
As sunlight shrank to dusk.
The day was done,
My friend was gone,
The night upon me brusque.


I don't forget adventures,
How simple they may be.
And it will stay,
The special play
Of Hollow dear and me.