I bent to smell my pink champayne
lined up in a row along the fence
and ran a finger on the petals.
Today, the sky was as blue as the lavender
that the wind brought to my nose.
I knelt on the dewy carpet of grass
and my knees in tattered jeans
received a damp welcome.
As I worked the shears in my hand
at the top of the shrubs,
I heard flutterings of tiny wings.
My eyes followed the sound,
and saw a butterfly,
the colour of the sun,
flapping on a sea of blue periwrinkles.
Drops of water sprayed
like miniature rain on its body
as it struggled to balance,
drinking air in gasps of desperation.
The thumps of my heart
became flutterings of wings
of a sparrow; a parrot; an eagle,
as the butterfly sank into the foliage.
I dug a frantic hand into the leaves and flowers
in search of life, determined that today
there would be no death.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment