deepundergroundpoetry.com
Butterfly Wings
Where does the butterfly
go when it rains.
I asked my mother this once when
I heard the bold thunder
chain; I was worried.
She said, my girl have faith.
But do the butterflies have faith, I questioned again.
Because I thought
that I ought
to have invited them in.
I would have let them stay long
so we could gossip a little
and become quiescently enamored with the wallpaper twiddle...
I would read to them some verse
from the Kybalion you see, and from the tulips & henbits I'd brew them some tea.
She said, no,
the butterfly have
no faith, they haven't
any time for these things.
They're either with
nectarine tresses
splitting rose colored lips,
or readied
under a flower
when the thunderclap hits.
I became quiescent.
It made me sad for the monarchs and the
painted ladies all wet.
I wanted to read to them a story and put them to bed.
No, the butterfly have
no faith, they haven't
any time for these things, I can see
The butterfly have no faith, and that's because they have wings.
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