On the bench by the lake
we pretend to watch the sunset.
In truth, we are waiting for the fairy folk
out on their evening stroll.
They are quite the busybodies,
bewitching nightingales’ songs,
touching up weeping willow leaves
where the green has faded a bit,
propping up trampled grass stalks,
and chasing irritated fire flies.
We must abide by their rules
and never look at them directly.
They avoid human attention,
our gazes being far too forward, too focused,
burning their delicate auras.
But if you take a peek at them
out of the corner of your eye,
they can not help being flattered
and will pose for you,
flaunting their iridescent glory,
if only for just a moment.