A Celtic Song

softly upon the dewy grass
our feet play games with ladybugs
they twist and twirl and lighty fall
and flatten down a grassen rug

the jig I dance is not exclusive
shared by the sun, and by the wind,
by the fawns, the butterflies
and by you, my dear old friend

we laugh and dance,
they dance along,
while the blue sky sings
a celtic song

and the green of my eyes
matches the summer trees
while yours gleam brighter
than the sunlit bees.

and our laughter joins
the birds' sweet songs
and it's exactly like
we're singing along

and the wind catches our hair
and it carries it around
as it does with the sweet scent of summer
and every glorious sound

while we laugh and dance,
they dance along,
and the blue sky sings
a celtic song

and as the sun sets down
we grow quite tired
and we lay upon our flattened grass
and stare up into blackened mire

slowly, stars blink on
small sparks of glory
and we find laughter again
at a remembered story

and one shoots across
and we shout, and wish
did we wish the same?
perhaps at similar-ish

either way, the night grows cold
we sleep upon our grassen sheet
a necessary joy, for on the morrow
we will start again with dancing feet

we will laugh and dance,
and they'll dance along,
while the blue sky sings
a celtic song