Butterflies that flew
in 1932
still held in that summer
by the equisitely neat caligraphy
& cruel glinting pin.
I wipe the dust
from the glass
& they gleam
as if they still dream
of being
alive.
i smash the glass
clutch them in my hand & climb
from attic to roof
& slowly
drawing myself up to
my full height
release them
back into time
smile as they flutter
in the summer breeze
of then & now
their dead eyes
taking it
clouds...trees...skies
their one last lonely flight
back into nothingness
wow...amazing and amazing storyline...taking some dead butterflies for one last lonely flight. Beautiful and touching is such a strange way. Compelling! love Dee Dee
To quote: 'To sleep, per chance to dream...' To see the frozen butterflies, break the glass and set them free for that one last flight...is to dream that there is life in death...with one last chance to fly... How beautiful a dream is....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nature should always be free to delight us with its infinite beauty. Butterflies under glass - a sad ending for such lovely and fragile creatures. This is simply beautiful! Linda