The breath of dead man winter’s <br />Swirling vapors of the frozen - <br />Forging dendrites in the splinters, <br />Bringing rains, the rivers run. <br /> <br />Along those swollen banks we stroll, <br />To take account of winter’s toll - <br />Eviscerated, but his ghostly grip still lingers <br />In the frost that splits the soil. <br /> <br />Then amongst last season’s damage, <br />Rustling in decaying twigs, <br />Are little nests defying carnage, <br />Writhing in the planting sun. <br /> <br />And there I pause, to which they say, <br />‘let’s go, so what? ’ <br />Because it’s all so annual, <br />So unspectacular - <br />‘But, ’ I argue, ‘that’s the reason <br />To enjoy this observation! ’ <br /> <br />It’s a not-too-distant season <br />When these things will metamorphose - <br />Bursting from <br />Their bound-up selves <br />To migrate far away. <br /> <br />Breath of dead man winter’s faded - <br />Smelt of purpose as he’d fasted, <br />Now the milkweed’s in the sun - <br />And that caterpillar’s fatted, feasting - <br />‘Think I’ll stay, you run along.’<br /><br />Kelly Vinal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/butterfly/
