A poem for poets

By , Steubenville, OH
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.





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