Ruth Walters (London, U.K.)

In July I caught a butterfly,
it's peacock markings
and its gentle wings
fluttered in my hand
to tickle and delight.

In July we saw the flowers bloom,
raising heads to the sun,
opening their petals
in the strong summer heat,
a maze of colours.

In July I watched you mellow,
red hot flames flickered and died
as did your ardor
against a backdropp of milky clouds
that hid a golden sky.