a butterfly won't linger til it's wings <br />are torn and tattered, <br />as if only one thing mattered: <br />it's own being. <br />once leaving 'wormhood' off for splendor, <br />once the crysallis transcending, <br />doffs it's former gluttony for <br />sipping amrit nectar... <br /> <br />a butterfly makes love, then dies. <br />and doesn't moments borrow, <br />nor barters for tomorrows <br />it might see. <br />instead, with beauty realized, <br />and stained glass wings against the skies, <br />declares her truth, elusively <br />then disappears forever.<br /><br />moon batchelder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-butterfly-wont-linger/
