Butterfly

 

I fell in love, one summer day
With nature’s most sublime;
A cabbage white that fluttered by
On wings I wished were mine.
He landed, then, upon my hand,
And fanned his wings in vanity.
One moment, nothing more, he perched,
Then launched himself above,
Up and up, above fields and streams,
He flew away, my love.

I lay down there upon the grass,
Still warmed from midday’s sun,
And opened up my heart to him
“Oh cabbage, come once more?”
But no reply was sent to me,
No flutter of light wings,
Except for splats of summer rain
That soaked me to the skin
And hid the tears that then I shed
For him that I had lost.

I think of him, on summer days,
When butterflies go by,
Faint and dull against the beauty
Of that Cabbage White of mine.

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© Fionyac