Poetry / archive
The Butterfly
Early in the morn, with the rising of the sun,
The butterfly prepares for the work to be done,
The dewy flowers, the springy grass,
All wait for the work to be done.
The butterfly moves off through the morn,
Moving, collecting, drinking, dispersing,
All the joy that nectar provides.
Oh! Ye travellers by the road,
Have ye seen the butterfly flutter
Its wings all aglitter,
in the rays of the morning's sun ?
Noon comes, the butterfly settles,
Settles in the shade of the trees,
Resting from the burning sun......
.....It sleeps on unaware that,
Its marks of glitter and flutter,
Left on the sands of life, are soon,
Very soon to be washed off by the tides of time.
Evening comes, the butterfly heads home,
Heads into the sunset, mingles into the west,
Dancing and fluttering on its way to death....