A Butterfly At Noon
Like her I came and left to soon
by James McLain
bent and frail of wing.
I tasted what I thought it was
sweet nectar before noon.
Inside a picture book I read
from whence it said they'd come.
Reposed in all there splendid grace
harmonic in their view.
Pictures move as time stands still
Time moves often pictures caught
each movement of soft wings.