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. . . ?