Transients Poem by robert dickerson
Transients
Mayflies and damselflies we are.
Our lives a summer, part or all.
Our job to flit from flower to flower.
Our duty just to die at evenfall.
Our wings are lighter than the air
they tread, tossed up
or blown from luff to luff:
they falter and adjust
and carry us off
over the waters
running or still.
Lips we don't have,
We cannot drink or eat,
but in a neat delerium, consume ourselves
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4/19/2024 4:44:01 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I love all those exotic gossamer winged flies (except the common house fly, don't care for those too much) and this poem is a winner.