The Butterfly Poem by Paul Reed

The Butterfly

Rating: 4.5


In the tranquil arms of a Sunday morning
Over the grassy hills there
The first warbling song of the skylark
Hung sweetly in the air;
The first Peacock butterfly
Gazed sightlessly from eyes of blue
No longer shielded under dreary wings of black
That have been closed all winter through;
Resting for a brief passing moment
To take in the world serene
On green stems now tangling and thrusting
Through the dead straw in between;
Knowing that your time has arrived at last
Your patience to reap it’s reward
As the gentle Sunday breezes rustle
Your hiding place in the sward

Monday, April 7, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success