Monday, May 1, 2017

Three May

I strode long a private way,
Where new petal, bud, and fragrant bloom laid,
Off minor perch three golden butterflies rose,
To dance, and loop ahead in ragged churns,
My guilt for their trouble made,
Was lost when they my friendship chose,
As their sentinel my share was paid,
Along the path four boundless souls,
Kept in band during nature’s go.


My older brother starting catching/releasing butterflies when he was three years old.

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