Poem

Butterfly

Constantly changing direction,

a living yellow leaf with a mind of its own

albeit a small one, never made up,

always about to alight

on a leaf, on a bud, on a stem,

here, then there,

on wings too big to be subtle

she’s off again, not knowing where,

as if she can’t decide.

Perhaps having been so recently

a worm, she’s afraid to place her feet

on any solid ground again,

like a brand new angel.