The Butterfly

The butterfly’s wings beat gentle
as it settles brown wings
onto the flowers I carry.
It stays as I walk
down the twisting pathway
towards you. It flutters
away before we get there
but through it, I feel you with me.

You are there again on a Cornish hillside
in late January sunshine
unexpected, but beating your brown
wings, sunbathing in the rays
you dance around us, to let us know
that you are there with us
before vanishing into the hedgerow.

I see you again closer to home
on a scorching summer’s day
you fly in to check up on us
lazily circling around
in the heat and I watch
you rise and dive
among the bright flowers
that still thrive
despite the fierce, blazing sun
and the wily hands of time and neglect.

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