On Ruby Wings

On Ruby Wings


Four years into the century,

A little girl was born

Into colonial Africa,

So battle scarred and torn.


Although she looked around her

At the beauty that was there,

She also conjured images

Of phantoms from the air.


In every age and culture

Fairies peep between the lines

Of factual and figment,

If you can but read the signs.


They roam through realms of childhood

And, in twilight they are hid.

And no one sees their coming,

Or can pin down what they did.


How poor a soul with nothing more

Than what confronts its eyes,

When it might glimpse a tiny glint

Of magic in the skies.


It drinks from drops of morning dew,

And scents the evening flowers

With essence of a moonbeam,

Or refreshing zest of showers.



We see these things in childhood,

Yet, we let them slip away,

‘Til, what began adventure,

Becomes just another day.


But Ruby Reeves remembered them

And lovingly embossed

Her paintings with the images

That most of us have lost.


Tchaikovsky knew his fairies

When he wrote The Sugar Plum.

Just sit and close your eyes and still

The little sprite will come.


She will dance across your eyelids,

And you will believe anew.

There is so much more to this life.

And Ruby knew that too.


If you are still in childhood,

Hold imagination tightly.

A little bit of fantasy

Will help your light shine brightly.


Especially look at little things,

In every shape and form.

They may become the balm of life,

The calm after the storm.


© Ruth Twyman Lockyer February 2008

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