The Ghost Queen.

A spellbinding apparition, she hovers,
where tapestries of Violets purr in puny sunstrokes,
dazzled droplets skid satin petals. 
Limed leaves hiccup as mossy coloured frogs applaud
Her Highness’s rhythmic flow of radiance.

The Queen, born from Gladiola Golden, glides,
Wings, woven peacock strands, steeped in pear dew,  
she waltzes with liquid stars,
Ginger mist cloaks her being...
a coppery tone outlines her cashmere shadow.

Tawny, tangled locks drip down her back,
Lemon dress fringed with Lavender lace,
complexion...a citron tint,
eyes, sea green, walnut shaped.
She has a nectarine voice and her hair glints in a syrup sun.

Sings Latin hymns, whilst dancing within mumbling mirrors,
listens for wind whispers...awaits dream colours to mature,
to slash-dab the first Rose growing,
in a merry-go-round of fantasia.
Time wilts, withers, the flower crumbles to paper...
Vanishing as a homebound ghost.

Californian Poppies queue as Buddhist monks,
Hummm! Breathing wisdom, as a silverness structure,
carried on sighs of Siskins, their blinks thread
patterns through our papery minds
to revitalise our perception of truth.

Matchstick men pick and pluck,
play havoc as infant Iris’s weep...
Royal hand summons the Whistling Wind...
Whirled and wrapped by a rainbow tail
Whooshed!...Back to their camel-backed hills.

Ghost Queen slumbers beneath petals of peridot,
under a night sky stippled with stars,
pinpricks of glittering glints.
Smiling, as morrow brings another day...
Nature’s grand design...

...and sunrays bleach Sunflowers flaxen.

(Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.....Nymph...by  Blanche Paymal-Amouroux).