A Butterfly At Noon

Like her I came and left to soon
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
a lepidoptery.
Time moves often pictures caught
each movement of soft wings.

by James McLain

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