The Ladybird

My ladybird’s
Emerging;
A structured being—behind the grave, She walks stamped in air.

Flashes show, over the regrets,
Her lace of silence folds to remind Us of the stars among petals soft
Meeting all of nature.

Past woodlands scattered and still unturned, With magic spun in her fingers— Charming yet awed, modest over water, Creature of the tactile; evolving in the fresh.

• Marianne Moore