Her touch is light,
Her heart is white,
She flits among the flowers;
If, by chance,
She comes to dance
It drives away the showers.
She gives us love
From skies above
And happiness to share;
Once, for a laugh,
She came to bath
And danced upon my hair.
She didn’t stay
But flew away
Continuing to roam;
That lady fair
Who skips the air:
The butterfly, windblown.
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© J Cosmo Newbery
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ReplyDeleteSince nea beat me to using the word "precious", I will say that it is most sweet. Thank you!
ReplyDeletelovely~
ReplyDeleteAs a poem, it does seem to flit a bit.
ReplyDeleteloved it ~
ReplyDeletePerfect, Cosmo. As always.
ReplyDelete