A Tale of the Insecta

Here among the flickery hues of the maamba breast Sits a butterfly in her bubbled cocoon. The wheels of metamorphosis feel the friction And soon her fragile colourful wings will glide the ever changing winds of the valley. The mellow of the morning yellow sun will drool at wings Whose tint strays unto petals ever-opening their breasts of sugar. I'm the brittle moth of day, Whose belly is wrapped in brown powder, Whose wings never clasp; Solacing in the wretch of a lonely log, Hoping for the best that can come from the closing palms of insecta. Should her innocent life fly into my thirsting latch, Crickets will sing day and night to the babies will make; Babies whose comeliness lays on their bellies of rainbow powder. 29/07/17 Copyright © All Rights Reserved