Butterflies in my time
Flit into love like changing rhyme,
Change meanings all the same
Then flit away to whence they came.
In the valley on hills too
Speckled wood, chalk hill blue,
Charge solar powered wings
Vanish as such pretty things.
Tortoiseshell and peacocks try,
Take the nectar, quickly fly
Away as they flutter by,
Never stop, I don't know why.
Graham Lawes, Sholing, Southampton
Daily Echo poet-in-residence Polly Clark writes: a summary, fluttery poem by this poet, with an affectionate portrait of a special creature.
You can e-mail me on polly.clark@soton-echo.co.uk
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