Butterfly Garden
Last year my garden
Bare and idle,
For drought and scorch
And pain,
As hundreds miles
Northward,
Lake Mead Cried
Out for rain.
Sometimes we pay a
Sacrifice
For water waste is just
Not nice.
In a desert habitat,
I had to choose,
And that was that.
But cloudbursts have come
More frequently,
Now, should I plant?
I guess we'll see.
How I miss those butterflies,
Visitors from these pretty skies,
Dropping by to rest awhile,
Gracing our day with many
A smile.
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