A verdant meadow flush with bluebonnets
rushes by under their tiny feet.
The smaller one points and cries joyously,
and the elder squeals with delight,
and both run toward a fluttering gem.
A black and yellow glory
chased by two giggling pixies
in the warm Texas Spring.

I know that in days or weeks,
Nature will bury this field of joys
with a carpet of spikes and stings.
In weeks or months, the butterfly,
the insect they chase will die,
perhaps mating first, perhaps not.
In years, my children will grow,
and their smiles will sadden,
under weight of wisdom and years.

But this day, Texas is green and kind.
This hour, the butterfly swoops and bounces
like a fairy child at play.
This minute, my daughters know only laughter.
This moment, time loses.