Purple Bliss
White butterflies flap
around the plump blooms
of a buddleia bush, heady
on nectar and a rush
of perfume from the thick
clusters of purple flowers.
They seem quite drunk,
roused in number to swarm
this beacon of pleasure.
Held within a cloud of ecstasy,
they are reluctant to leave,
wings hiccupping
in short flights never far
from the next feverish sip
of an ambrosial brew. Some
are carried off in their bliss,
wings waving goodbye
out of the grinning beak
of a bird. Others
just wear out, never troubled
by questions of why.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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