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by Jeanne C. Howes in Connecticut

Beyond the log where jacks-in-the-pulpit grow,
Beyond the castle carved of granite rock,
Come secret whisper soft and low
And follow me along a hidden walk.

Greenvelvet moss cushions a carpet way,
Fern fronds prepare the fairy violins,
Brush gently by the bushes' veiled display,
Step softly where the magic place begins.

There, in the shade, a glimmer and a spell!
From twin green leaves deep-rooted in the mold,
A slender shaft droops with a rosy shell,
Delicately veined along the full-lip fold.

Across the hillside in this quiet grove
Enchanted orchids. not for human touch,
Assembled by the dozen, by the drove,
Held by some witchcraft in a sleepy hush.
They stand apart and regally as queens,
Pink lady slippers dreaming of a dance,
When peepers shake their moonlight tambourines,
And princes come to break a silver trance.

We'll tell you what we're doing here... then maybe you'll tell us what you're doing there.

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