What had she gotten into?

First of all her mother’s make-up case,
Then her collection of magic wands.

Morning Glory, the pint-sized
Fairy of the Dawn,
Had no recourse,
Now she was discovered,
Then to try to make the sun rise.

“Daughter, dear,” Fantasia,
Crooned in her soothing, gentle way,
“It’s time you learned consequences,
Consequences, Daughter dear.”

“Oh, Glory,” she said to herself,
“What if it doesn’t work,
When if the earth stays dark forever,
Birds don’t sing,
Flowers don’t bloom,
Crops don’t grow,
And children don’t play.”

“Woe is me, woe is me”

Orpheus, passing just by chance,
Strumming his trusty lute,
Saw the distraught little nymph,
Trying to find a way
Out of her dilemma.

“What’s a sprite to do,
Where’s a sprite to go
For advice.”

With consequences
Hanging over her head
And seeing make-up dripping down her face,
Orpheus had to chuckle.
He had been there once,
Perplexed as a wayward youth,
Hoping the day would dawn.

He, laughing now,
She close to tears.

His fingers plucked
The proper chord
And All Nature round knew.

Glory would find the note,
The glorious timbre on the air
To call up today,


Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
June 8, 2018