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About This Poem
The Whirling Butterfly
I stepped into a world of pinks, reds, yellow, and purple.
Bee’s, butterflies, and hummingbirds flying free!
Long flowing stems swaying, in a soft summer breeze.
An aroma, fresh cut hay, teasing my nose!
Smiling, I recall that day… not so long ago.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a welcomed scent.
Looking up with dark green eyes -
I feel my Grandmothers smile warm my face.
Calloused finger grasping my small hand.
Pointing, she drew my eye to a small delicate thing.
Pink wings and tiny feelers, swaying in the wind!
She bent slowly, whispering, in my eager ear,
“It’s a Whirling Butterfly”
She said, with a giggle and a sigh.
Time passes quickly, like rushing waters of a fall.
In my garden now, pinks, reds, purple and yellows.
Bee’s, butterflies, and hummingbirds fly free.
Delicate stems, dancing, to music, of an evening breeze.
Movements, drawing me, to a special place.
Pointing, I show my Granddaughter the prize!
Excited, she looks at me with her big blue eyes.
I smile, tenderly at the soft red curls
sofly lying around her sweet little face.
Tears swell, in a dusty throat,
as she grasps my calloused finger.
She spies the pink wings, the yellow feelers,
swaying in the wind.
Whispering, “ It’s a Whirling Butterfly ”
I almost cry! With a giggle, and a sigh.
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