Hoping to catch your eye
Circling around you, oh my
Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light
Oh, what a beautiful sight
Flying so gracefully
Into the sky, the butterfly
Trying to catch a butterfly
Fly, fly, fly, butterfly
There he sets upon the mums
I'm having so much fun
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
'Arcturus' is his other name—
I'd rather call him 'Star.'
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!
I slew a worm the other day—
A 'Savant' passing by
When the grass was closely mown,
Walking on the lawn alone,
In the turf a hole I found
And hid a soldier underground.
Spring and daisies came apace;
Grasses hid my hiding-place;
Grasses run like a green sea
O'er the lawn up to my knee.
In the middle of our porridge plates
There was a blue butterfly painted
And each morning we tried who should reach the
Then the Grandmother said: "Do not eat the poor
That made us laugh.
Always she said it and always it started us laughing.
It seemed such a sweet little joke.
I was certain that one fine morning
As the butterflies wings are clipped by the wind, it snaps and falls to earth, like a lotus flower, it floats in its own reflection before bursting into flames and the embers light up and burn out like a match towards the stars.... Never quite reaching the pockets of light that glitter in-between the lonely darkness, hoping to reconcile with the light that it yearns to be a part of. But like some lights, it fades away and turns to ash so easily, so fragile it breaks apart and scatters in different directions... Forever shattered into fragments that can never be whole again...Continue reading
On hot field days they wave to the flowers,
And matching grasshoppers climb their stems,
As pink butterflies visit in the lazy hours,
While their sly namesake doesn't notice them!
Frequently a chorus of crickets can be heard,
As they sway gracefully under Moon and Mars.
When beauty is spoken without a single word,
Like a distant sound of summer night guitars!
at long last the time has come
when beautiful lovers meet
the scent of deep purple blooms
calls to butterfly
on wings of gold black and blue
to the vivid fragrant source
in days of honey
down in the meadow
flowers bloom in all colors
and butterflies reign
sunshine monarch bliss
in emerald blooming grass
lovely moon tonight
prismatic hued flight
days of golden rhapsody
of cat and
though not expected was long awaited
green eyes drift to the tip of its own nose
in hushed stillness
and the guest