Butterfly

The breath of dead man winter’s
Swirling vapors of the frozen -
Forging dendrites in the splinters,
Bringing rains, the rivers run.

Along those swollen banks we stroll,
To take account of winter’s toll -
Eviscerated, but his ghostly grip still lingers
In the frost that splits the soil.

Then amongst last season’s damage,
Rustling in decaying twigs,
Are little nests defying carnage,
Writhing in the planting sun.

And there I pause, to which they say,
‘let’s go, so what? ’
Because it’s all so annual,
So unspectacular -
‘But, ’ I argue, ‘that’s the reason
To enjoy this observation! ’

It’s a not-too-distant season
When these things will metamorphose -
Bursting from
Their bound-up selves
To migrate far away.

Breath of dead man winter’s faded -
Smelt of purpose as he’d fasted,
Now the milkweed’s in the sun -
And that caterpillar’s fatted, feasting -
‘Think I’ll stay, you run along.’

by Kelly Vinal

Comments (11)

excellent, wandering with you midst the harmony and disharmony of nature, musical and sonorous tones that would join with Frost
Felt I was right there with you, thanks to the imagery and detail and I chose to stay with you. Nature is full of wonder - worth the wandering. I like the fact that you used a book as a source. I like to do that.
I enjoyed this write. In every time there is a season. Some seasons bring not so good and others more beauty.....I liked your ending. Take care.
I like the language in this poem and the theme of a delicate transformation hence the title 'Butterfly', which I love in irony to fact that the language in this poem is so heavy. Beautiful =D ~x~Sarah~x~
Slendid rite Sir! I can only assume such beauty yet you have painted the perfect picture......
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