BUTTERFLY

Whose canvas art thou, little jewel

on wing? What magic

brush doth he wield, who traceth 

thy curves and waves,

such in violaceous tones arrayeth?

What convey these rainbow stipples

and spots, thou beauteous

friend of zephyrs? Did the artist, shy,

fearful of discovery, thus

secret epistles to his beloved pen?

Or art thou a fragment of a painter's

palette, weary grown of 

leafless halls, borne aloft by colours

athirst for Summer's blue,

of a celestial crystal azure bereft?

Perchance did fair Iris her riven robe

with silver stardust strew,

for shimmering shreds o'er flower'd

meadows to cast, that

Earth her floating vestments may don.

My poet's tongue thy song would limn,

thy mystical mission, thine

earthly purpose, for my childhood days

didst thou with lightness imbue,

with joyful teaching and gentle healing.

Thro' groves thine airy path I followed,

'long brooks, 'neath oaks, 'pon

carpets of sky; when Angels our souls 

spirit away, our hearts

e'er in Summer's greenwoods shall fly.

© 2015 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image: THE BUTTERFLY

Source: www.liveinternet.ru

Artist: John Collier