When garden guestshave long gone and into cold winter nightWhen all is quietbut for fountain-gurgled splashes,could you but spyyou’d see them flit,wee beasties withsparkle-trailed wingsriding orchid’s backs.They rise and raceto frilly cheers heardonly by earthworm ears. Each card an awkwardaspect of love’s alphabetin retrospect, safely tuckedin its vintage array.Yet pause a moment and let them…