A Sunday Poem (and a Photograph)

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A Fluttering Butterfly

A butterfly fluttered by
my window after the thoughts
of you that occupied my mind
came and went.

Lightness of beauty
coloring a gray morning
of autumn at the end of one more
century of relevance,
dread parading in front
of my overcast eyes,
heavy with the weight of the past

’til

the mass of unresolved drama
sank, unceremoniously,
around the midday mark —
surviving only joy, passion and
the spontaneous spark
that flames the grace in my heart.

And I watch as new possibility
takes flight, following
a fluttering butterfly

up

and into the brightening skies.

A Poem (and a photograph)

Summer Ends 02

The last of Summer is Delight

The last of Summer is Delight —
Deterred by Retrospect.
‘Tis Ecstasy’s revealed Review —
Enchantment’s Syndicate.

To meet it — nameless as it is —
Without celestial Mail —
Audacious as without a Knock
To walk within the Veil.

—Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)

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