Musings on a butterfly with frayed wings that passed by while I read in the garden.
Oh you are a pretty thing
All bronzed but wings frayed
You danced above my reading nook
In the breeze your visage swayed
Oh you are a pretty thing
Though I do not know your name
Just another butterfly wandering
So different but the same
Your damaged wings
And brilliant earthy hues
More dear to me than you know
A visage of beauty and then to muse
Oh you are a pretty thing
But I think your time is nigh
Frayed wings can only lift so long
Before the span of life flutters by
I can’t seem to look anywhere in the garden at the moment without seeing butterflies. I even saw an endangered Richmond Birdwing last week, but alas it flew before I could get a shot. It’s hard to define the joy of butterflies and I’m glad to say that over the last couple of years I have learned to see caterpillars in a similar light.
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Jane Grows Garden Rooms 