Brimstone
A balmy day in February,
A flash of yellow's all I saw,
A welcome harbinger of Spring –
A paper bird upon the wing.
By name, a brimstone butterfly,
So apposite, its sulphur hue
Glows brightly, fresh, upon the eye,
Light as a feather it flits on by.
I watch it settle on a briar,
Presumably in search of food,
In vain – the rose-hips glow like fire :
No flowers, no nectar, just bare wood.
Fluttering on it sails away,
Skipping a lively wind-born dance.
I fear it may not last the day
Unless it finds some sustenance.
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