Lame Butterfly

LAME BUTTERFLY I look through the dark where the rockets are soaring, and go through another bleak Fourth of July, remembering summer and when it was raining. Forgetting you is a lame butterfly. I do not feel cold, nor a warm wind, if blowing, I've emptied my mind of our seasonal high; flamingos are dancing sky rockets are bursting, If I could forget, I'd never know why. I look to the heavens where your face is smiling, ten thousands of sparklers have lighted the sky, I feel your percussion. You go on forever. Forgetting you is to make love a lie. The more I forget you the more I remember sweet smelling of rain on our Fourth of July. There's got to be somewhere we won't be forbidden Forgetting you. It's a lame butterfly. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet