Concealed by an old garden rose,
The fairy queen took her repose.
A cold cup of tea
Near sandwich debris
Held the key
To her doze.

The wait staff, weary of serving,
Her inattention observing,
Had coaxed kindly bees
From gnarled apple trees
With sly pleas,
Lips curling.

Unobserved, they brought honey wine,
Laced the tea with fruit of the vine.
She savored each sip,
With tongue rimmed her lip,
Lost her grip,
Lay supine.

She dreamed of a castle unknown,
With turrets of silver and stone.
A flag of gold thread
Snapped high overhead—
Motto read,
‘Vacant Throne.’

The eyes of her mind opened wide—
A monarch transformed checked the tide
And saw with dismay
That squalls in the bay
Would delay
A boat ride.

She saddled a swift dragonfly,
Then mounted, a whip by her thigh.
To court the queen flew,
Where moon dust she threw
Quelled a coup,
Starred the sky.

First published in the Quarterday Review: The Poetry of Mythic Journeys, vol. 2, no. 3 (August [Lughnasadh] 2016): 55-56.  Edited by L.J. McDowall and Leslie E. Owen.  Glasgow, Scotland:  Quarterday Press.  ISSN: 2397-8481 (print) ISSN: 2059 0938 (electronic).