Home » Poetry » Day 339 – In A Cloud Of Butterflies

Day 339 – In A Cloud Of Butterflies

I’m sure now that standing
in a cloud of butterflies
is a moment of exquisite
mercy.

(You think or wish you could
but reach out your hand
and capture a bunch
to take home,

but they prove more artful
than death in your grasp.)

I had thought they had no right,
no right to be moseying
carelessly round my face,
yet effortlessly dart
from net, sugar, sour
and never touch me.

And I had desperately pleaded
for just one to alight.

(Do you think of how many trees
you’ll never own, how many clouds
you cannot feel?)

But I stand with arms down
for I have seen them falter,
unaided, and wither gently
in the grass

and though I cannot stop
the mighty winds of fate,
I would not contribute to this.

(Are you thankful enough
that you’re here to witness
the briefest of their cycles?)

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3 thoughts on “Day 339 – In A Cloud Of Butterflies

  1. This butterfly poem seems apt for the week of Robin William’s death. His movie, Patch Adams there was a brilliant scene at the end involving a butterfly. Do you remember that?

  2. I love the concept of “how many clouds you cannot feel?” When my youngest son was a teenager, we were driving through cloud over Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales. I asked him to open his window and let his hand drift through the air. Ten years later, he still talks about the time that he “touched the clouds.” 🙂

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