Poetry - Issue 4

"Tears of A Butterfly"

Today I sit in a field,

surrounded by flowers,

I close my eyes for rest.

I await the butterfly.

When my patience is rewarded,

slowly her sorrow shows,

in the tears of a butterfly.

She thinks it's hidden well.

But I know the signs intimately,

having hidden scars of my own,

obtaining the wisdom only pain brings.

Wisdom's not growing older, but suffering remembered.

So I hold out my hand, and wait,

quietly, patiently, gently crooning,

till she alights on my hand.

I gently glide a finger down her wing.

Stress slowly washes 'way,

her fears, for now, forgotten,

and the past, in the past.

I see the Butterfly's smile.