A Time of Butterflies
It's the time of butterflies to fly
angelic wings drifting hurried by
in the powdered blue clouded sky;
retrograde illusions left from spring
revolving a floating dance upon the wing
venturing into summer's fling;
hovering on echinacea cones
resting momentary brief never alone,
touching each water splashed stones;
Lepidoptera orange peached winged gilds
skipping flower petals imaginings fulfilled
rare and delicate lives quickly spilled;
sloe obsidian indigo shaped melds
barely a moment to be held
large and small and medium without bells;
awe and wonder at bespeckled migrating swallowtails
riding the gently salted sea wind sails
monarchs of the day uncompromised and frail,
grouped gatherings cluster to a southerly warm surprise
down to Mexico, the gulf and reflected in a child's eyes
the journey has begun and flight DNA memorized;
observe and watch, their efforts on the clock of need
spring north to breed and feed
leggy landings graceful on the summer milkweed
then south as summer fades away
with winters ready to chill their fate each day
for now, enjoy, let the butterflies play.
Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2019
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