THE BUTTERFLY AND THE HAND

The Butterfly and the hand

While summer day leaden lids ushered in sleep

and into tranquil mind gentle dreams did seep,

hands, limp and lifeless facing the balmy sun ,

as exquisite mind stilled musing had just begun

I became at once aware of an imagined touch,

for it was almost too slight be known as such.

Then without intent, eyes dropped onto my palm.

The world was a solemn stillness, all was calm,

and there rested a Butterfly, there in my hand.

I was awestruck, blessed by a vision so grand.

As I watched it’s wings twitch and flap in code,

entranced by the vivid flash colour it showed,

I wondered what news delicate herald brought,

and did it not fear to be by frightful fist caught.

I seemed to understand, but what I couldn’t say,

then gone that beautiful moment as it flew away.

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