Sunday, 23 June 2013

The Native

Butterflies carry the colours on them
Of the flowers they live on
The buds they bloom with their love
Long after spring has gone.
They dance in summer's air
When the high rays of sun are drawn
Till the golden light no more shines
And the wind is cold with autumn's dawn
On wilted flowers of past love
They bring the spring along
Then fold their wings and peacefully die
By our winter's cold thorn.
With tired wings, much coloured
The native returns home after long
With hues it has carried from far
To the place where its colours belong
From each wing a flower blooms
On each petal lingers a song.
And so in each sublime spring morn
The butterfly and the flower bloom along.

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