Another chore—
take down the foyer fixture
and change two bulbs.
As bug parts slide
from upturned glass to trash—
light on wing—iridescence!
Is this all beauty is?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As bug parts slide from upturned glass to trash— light on wing—iridescence! fomr simple things you dive into a philosophy, into mortality, into beauty. this is a special gift in you dear poet Glen.. thank u. tony
thank you, tony! why that question at the end of the poem happened doing that chore i can't myself explain. but certainly, in a long view, our entire lives are momentary, and so the things that change or pass with age within that life or as our moods or feelings change. thank you for your comment, tony. appreciatively, glen p.s. i'm glad you found this one. you're the first to leave a comment! -g.