One last grown-up butterfly
My phantom in the yard
With time running out
As quickly as it rushes in
Frantic beauty floating
Searching for a place to stay
While space just stands there
Patiently waiting to be filled
With leaves and sunlight
Wings of assembled dust
That flutter back and forth
Like a grieving mother
Achieving her composure
When she finally comes to rest
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment