Friday, December 15

Poetry: Ode to a Butterfly

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Ode to the Butterfly

Mother Nature’s tender brush strokes of perfect plumb on each feather light wing

Beauty’s colourful sap for the parched urbanised throat that chokes on exhaust fumes

And buzz word ‘green house’ gases.  The soft caressing puff of air they bring

When flitting past to don the gaudy conclaves of another inviting blossom of earth’s womb.

Their life’s span is short and their lifestyle simplistic as they pollinate and chrysalate

They are the true voyeurs and appreciators of colour and art and perfume and light

Their co-workers, spindly stems of thriving, pure beings, blooms and buds that neither obfuscate

Nor adjudicate but free from conscious creature choice are splendid watchmen of the world ‘til night

Their days are lazy and long, decades in mere hours to learn and love no time for fear or foe

Their deaths are silent as drifting snow and go unmourned; their memorial in new birth

In meadows of heady scented poppies and blue belled brooks flowering from the seeds they sow

Oh what a legacy! What freedom to fly uncorrupted, unnoticed, surveying the bruised earth

If they could speak would they sing a dirge or a joyous ditty to spring?

Would they resent their labours plan for a future that flies faster than they?

Or do they understand more having no understanding at all that to cling

To the past or fight the future spoils their one, bright, glorious day.

Oh flimsy feathers flitting fast

Weaving hope in life’s dreary underpass

Oh bright beauty of heaven’s canvas

Lighting softy on butter cupped grass

Oh free spirit of earth of the sun’s fire

And the whispering wind in Nature’s choir

Grace upon this gentle soul of mine

The open eyes to bathe in sun kissed crimson wine

Of floral fair and beauty bare

The miracle of nature’s prime

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