When all seemed lost, and hope was stilled:
It came to pass, one summer day,
A gardener brought inside
With purchased plants a stow-away
That, unknowing, hitched a ride.
He hid, as Nature had conceived,
Unnoticed, where he perched for
sipping nectar, and received
the nourishment he’d searched for.
As yet unseen, this stow-away
camouflaged against the bloom,
now sated, chased the glow of day
Beyond a glassy tomb.
He beat against the window pane –
The gardener saw him then –
It’s waning strength was plain
To see. And that was when, alas!
Our stow-away – hope lost – had stilled,
His wings against the glass.
The gardener took his only chance,
Before he plucked from harm
The beauty, trapped by happenstance,
To photograph its charm.
Now captured for eternity
By digital modernity,
The frightened one is borne outdoors.
And taking wing, in freedom soars,
Into the joy of sunlit sky
The glorious, golden butterfly.
Hope lived again, and time was stilled.
Butterflies, and hope. . .could there ever be enough. . . ?