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A poem for poets
October 12, 2012
I saw a butterfly the other day.
It was so beautiful,
And red
And blue
And orange.
There was a flower,
That it rested upon.
Trim,
And yellow,
And perfect.
But when it flew,
The left wing seemed clipped.
A notch taken from the flesh,
And it wobbled, as if unsure.
It was the first butterfly of spring,
And it was flawed.
Could you imagine?
A perfect creature, blemished!
But, if I were a butterfly, would you see me perfectly?
Or would you surprise in my humanity?
You wouldn’t know.
You couldn’t guess.
So you must be the butterfly too.
Unsure,
And indecisive,
And human.
© Anonymous
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