little black butterfly
with a few white spots
flying, searching
for a flower to sit on
every one she sees
turns away from her
until finally she finds
a beautiful flower
smiling up
the stem strong
the petals inviting
the scent caressing
carefully she sits
the flower rocks gently
in the summer breeze
sounds of laughter
cheery voices
a shadow falls over
a hand approaches
the butterfly flutters
as the flower is picked
and taken away
the butterfly cries
and one more white spot
slowly turns black
by Eadwine Rose
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2 comments:
Reminds me of a Robert Frost poem called "Design." Very fatalistic. Still, it beats the syrupy falseness of something like a Thomas Kincaid.
Hi, it is THE Eadwine Rose here. I was looking for something and stumbled upon this entry. You made me blush! *giggles* :) Thanks!
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