An old woman studies a butterfly
On an empty lane of cracked little pebbles
Wrinkled fingers extend to touch a wing
Intricately designed with swirling rainbow
At ease the tiny bug floats through vines
Twirling without a hint of fright
A beam of sunlight embraces two beings
Aged human and youthful insect alike
As she traces the spider-web-thick edge
Perhaps she does begin to ponder
If a creator is smiling down from above
So that under her gingham blanket tonight
With a belly warmed by mince and mellow
Her coarse cheek shall caress the pillow
As her eyelids flutter themselves
And she will catch a glimpse of butterflies
A swarm of eloquently crafted indigoes
Vermillion to honey blasts of beauty
And she shall say yes
I accept wings of my own
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