Butterflies that flew <br />in 1932 <br /> <br />still held in that summer <br />by the equisitely neat caligraphy <br />& cruel glinting pin. <br /> <br />I wipe the dust <br />from the glass <br /> <br />& they gleam <br />as if they still dream <br /> <br />of being <br />alive. <br /> <br />i smash the glass <br />clutch them in my hand & climb <br /> <br />from attic to roof <br />& slowly <br /> <br />drawing myself up to <br />my full height <br /> <br />release them <br />back into time <br /> <br />smile as they flutter <br />in the summer breeze <br /> <br />of then & now <br /> <br /> <br />their dead eyes <br />taking it <br /> <br />clouds...trees...skies <br /> <br />their one last lonely flight <br />back into nothingness<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-last-lonely-flight/
