The Butterfly Tree
She frolics on an autumn day
running wild through a blood red glen
the leaves on her train leap up and dance
swirling around her as she sings
softly
to a bird in her hand:
she sings of the butterfly tree.
The bird leaps up
he spreads his wings—
he sours through the fall foliage,
up , up,
to the blue sky beyond
where he warbles upon breeze
lovingly
to the crimson sun:
he warbles of the butterfly tree.
The sun turns away
to shine among the dark
he courts the quiet shade
chasing away the silver moon
who hides beneath a laughing brook
he flirts among the dappled light
as the world begins to whisper
loudly
to the silver shadow ‘neath the brook:
it whispers of the butterfly tree
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