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Chasing Butterflies

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Those orange wings
capes of the monarch
that fluttered beneath the weltering wind,
higher and higher they rise,
against the blue sky,
the tips trailed behind their black glory—

Dip and curve;
my hand shot out
as my feet slipped steadily against the ground;
I reached up for those orange wings.
Could I have such a gown?

My dusty feet cracked
as I raced through the dirt;
my hands gripped the net
I held at the ready—
any moment now—
those wings would be mine—

swing and tumble
stand back up
grab the net
dust those hands
and let feet pound into the ground
again as the chase resumes

never losing sight
of those orange wings,
that faded into the sun,
as my body continued to lurch forward—

Could I have such wings?





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