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Butterflies Here I sit on a chocolate-brown wicker chair Birds, perched on telephone wires, like music notes on a blue page of sky, sing out their compositions I ask myself, "Where do butterflies go to die?" Yellow, shiny buttercups polka-dot the grass The dragon fly strikes a pose on the edge of the pond A purple fluttering catches my eye Wings lightly closing, alighting on a petal, sipping nectar Then, like a feather carried on the breath of air, twirling and flitting, it continues its journey... Where do butterflies go to die? |
Additional Notes:
Have you ever seen butterflies die? I haven't. One day, in my garden, I found one that
had been trampled, only one wing remained. It made me think about it, because they
are nature's most beautiful and majestic insects and I wondered, where do they go when
they sense their wings won't carry them any more? There is also another angle to this
poem, and I am curious to see what the reader sees and interprets. First published
at Poetically Speaking July, 2001.
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