Treasure Island

Lesley Diane Sutherland

(Chester, England)

THE WOUNDED BUTTERFLY


This poem is inspired by the painting ‘The Wounded Butterfly’ by Edward Atkinson Hornel which I saw in the Williamson Art Gallery in Birkenhead. It shows three little girls sitting in the sand dunes and in the palm of the eldest is the wounded butterfly that the girls are sadly looking at. I wrote it from the point of view of the butterfly.

The Wounded Butterfly

The waves whisper against the shifting sands,
And gentle breezes breathe the softest sounds,
Your sorrow falls into your open hand
As I, forever now, am on the ground.
Without a care I lived my thoughtless life,
Alighting on one precious flower then gone,
Not knowing of the human world of strife,
Not knowing that my freedom would be done.
You children of the world of sound and light
Who live for more than just one paltry day,
I hope you’ll never suffer my sad plight,
Let no one hold your yearning wings at bay;
Soar high, high up into the waiting sun
Be free to laugh and love and swiftly run.

Oct 2005

Submitted: Monday, February 04, 2008

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  • James Niles (5/28/2008 6:07:00 PM)

    I was about twelve. The first sonnets, other than Shakespeare's, that I read and could appreciate as fourteen lines of bliss, were from the Portuguese, a slim volume wedged tightly in a basement bookcase. It contained delicately attached plates of exquisite nudes in airy space suspended.

    Hark, the phone. It's poetry night at the pub. My ride is here and I undressed. Tears of joy are streaming down my cheek. I am so glad you found my Williamsesque Patersonsey epistle. (Report) Reply

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