"I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I,
a butterfly dreaming . . ."
But I was only the cocoon grub,
attached to a ceiling,
So I hung there thoughts of enrapturing,
fascinating, the meaning,
But I was still a sordid bug,
unloved a heart for stealing,
Outside was a Billabong, (Aussie water hole)
enchanting was the feeling,
I jerked the zip and let me rip,
away from the cocoon,
delightful slip an swerve,
with constant wheeling
I had bloody wings an things,
entrancing was the moon,
Don Johnson 8-july-11
Poet Destroyer ~ A
Contest Name any old butterfly poem....
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
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