Butterfly On a Rock
In my garden sits a large granite rock,
flecked with traces of quartz, mica, and spar.
A juggernaut, juxtaposed with shamrock,
and flowers of yellow and cinnabar.
Time and weather exposed its hidden faults,
riffled with colors of every hue.
And butterflies visit it for its salts;
today, I spied one of indigo blue.
It stood poised on that rock, with folded wing,
edged in gold filigree fit for a king.
Shadows lengthen across the garden floor,
as cooling breezes sweep the quiet air.
And the blue butterfly took flight once more,
leaving the silent giant waiting there.
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