The Butterfly Tree

She frolics on an autumn day running wild through a blood red glen the leaves on her train leap up and dance swirling around her as she sings softly to a bird in her hand: she sings of the butterfly tree. The bird leaps up he spreads his wings— he sours through the fall foliage, up , up, to the blue sky beyond where he warbles upon breeze lovingly to the crimson sun: he warbles of the butterfly tree. The sun turns away to shine among the dark he courts the quiet shade chasing away the silver moon who hides beneath a laughing brook he flirts among the dappled light as the world begins to whisper loudly to the silver shadow ‘neath the brook: it whispers of the butterfly tree