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
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