Ripples That Fly

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I glance at a wandering butterfly.

It glides in the crisp wash of pink-to-blue

And winks at the fading moon.

With each step across the highway of heavens,

It greets a fellow stranger.

 

Afar,

My eyes brush over 

A mourning cloak melted into a tree,

Its mahogany wings invisible.

With every second it grasps onto the wood,

No one pays heed at the lonesome stranger.

 

My finger caresses a darting swallowtail.

It foxtrots across my hand,

Examining the wonders of the world from a new perch.

With each minute it stays on my hand,

It sashays as if it thinks everyone and no one is watching.

 

Butterflies are shimmering ripples in the blue,

Beautiful to everyone.

Distinct to everyone.

 

Butterflies are shimmering ripples in the blue,

Beautiful like you.

Distinct like you.






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