I Was Birthed In the Middle of the Middle Ages

A BUTTERFLIGHT’S MR. RIGHT Last night was television and going to sleep at eight You were exhausted even though it wasn’t very late So upon your pillow placed placidly lay comforted by soft Until your weakened eyes closed and dreams lifted you aloft In the dream you can’t really fly but it feels as if you do Everything was vivid, the violet, the green and the blue Flowers were everywhere and you cherished each one While subconsciously you prayed this dream would never be done Little children’s laughter echoed through the city where ever you went And when angels whispered in your ear you knew not what they meant You were headed for Mrs. Lopez’s little bodega where everything’s on sale And she always has an amusing anecdote and laughs at herself after each tale Milk, eggs, bread, butter and all that’s essential And then the angels whispered, “this day has potential” You headed home confused by what the seraphim had said But in reality you were sleeping snuggled in the warmth of your bed So back to the dream and it’s glorious end With nary a scene no one need mend You finished purchasing everything you’ve penned Alas on the way home you dropped a package and a handsome man said “Pardon me but I’ve a hand to lend” And suddenly you recall what the angels said and you began to understand And pictured this perfect pair sitting atop a dune carved out of sand It was either the Mediterranean or the Caspian Sea As you walked shoeless and he whispered, my sweet, it’s just you and me With a wink and a yawn you awake in the very same bed But still wondering about those angels and what they had said Still you arose to shed lingerie for a lovely little skirt and a sweater You tell yourself it was just a dream but reality would be much better So that morning you were walking to work still wondering all along It doesn’t matter what those angels said because even they can be wrong Suddenly you drop your briefcase when you see a handsome man begin to bend And then those angels made your Mr. Right say, “Pardon me, but I’ve a hand to lend” © 2011.…phreepoetree Girl, the worst kind of butterfly to be is in a collection smooshed between two panes of glass in someone‘s beautiful collection …..don’t let happen to you!