I sat amidst the gnarled roots of an ancient tree
watching water flow to and fro and all at once
I caught a glimpse of poetry floating softly by.
It was but a tiny poem of bustling minnows and young trout
trying to catch the short-lived mayflies flying all about
in the whispering summer breeze.
I closed my eyes and listened to the rippling stream,
waiting for the perfect words to come
to justify this beautiful scene.
At last my muse spoke, so I picked up my pencil and wrote
a poem of a Monarch butterfly
who grew weary of flapping his wings,
so he found a buoyant maple leaf and it became his boat.
He sailed where the mountain stream took his slapdash vessel
sunning his vibrant wings as the warm golden sun rose and set.
At night, he marveled at the phases of the silvery moon
he heard the plaintive howls of the timber wolves
and knew the end of his journey was coming all too soon.
For butterflies, like people never live forever
in fact their life so brief, so few of them even try
to soar beyond their migrating journey,
as did this brave, gypsy soul butterfly.
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s Note: Today’s prompt took me on a fanciful journey.