Butterfly,
waving by,
wings a daytime lullaby.
Leaves a note of colored air
floating in the empty space just there.
Oxygen of beauty breath
soaring out of cocooned death,
giving promises of now--
being what it is and why and how.
Butterflies,
buttercups,
flying fuzz and smooth sups.
If wings took root and roots took wing,
the wings would grow and roots would sing!
Margery Layton
(in the 60's)
