Life is like the butterfly,
Innocent in the bloom,
Destined to give life nurture,
To leave the garden too soon.
This is your life’s station,
To flicker from leaf to bud,
Looking for a velvet pillow,
To its pistil give a tug.
If you find no place to land,
Your little blackened feet,
Fly on to the garden over,
For a nectar pool to greet.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 