The Butterfly

How lovely the scent that wafts in the breeze – 

It beckons the butterfly, whispers, “Oh please 

Come partake of this wonderful nectar inside, 

Brush wings on petals, you won’t be denied.” 

Consumed by the need to probe for the sweet, 

The Monarch will hover, decision complete, 

Committed to tasting the flavor desired,

A tongue flickers forth, its mission inspired. 

Diaphanous touches cause dew to release, 

Soft brushings of wings on petals increase. 

Light as a feather on precipitous perch, 

It sighs in relief, having ended its search. 

The petals of rose spread wide and suggest 

A union of flower and butterfly blessed, 

Lo, the butterfly drinks through petals a-quiver 

In concert with wings that shimmer and shiver. 

I am the butterfly, she is the flower, 

We meet in the garden, in pale misty shower 

That kisses the cheek and moistens the eyes, 

Then parting, I lift myself back to the skies. 

(I wrote this poem in 2004 one night when I was in a very good mood.)