Ann Ingalls Poet Rhyme

Trade My Skin

Trade Your Skin                                                                                                      
 
Who knew you’d trade your tender skin
For something finer, something thin?
An iridescent new blue suit,
To wear when sipping sour fruit.
Who knew you’d transform, by and by
From human form to butterfly?
With eyes that hide beneath your wings,
You watch on high for heavenly things.
Who knew you’d be an insect fair,
And waft away on misty air?
Then pause and warm your wings in sun.
You knew, Blue Morpho. You’re the one.

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Gordon Mcconnell February 4, 2019 at 9:53 AM Lovely penning Ann, so good a piece with fine rhyme and imagery.

Lindsay Laurie January 29, 2019 at 9:56 PM G'day Ann … nicely written. It's true. We admire the butterfly but detest the caterpillar - thank you Ann - Lindsay

W.A. Cholt January 29, 2019 at 2:10 PM Very enjoyable poem.

Maureen McGreavy Pigeon Tart January 29, 2019 at 12:38 PM Wonderful! :) xomo