Sunday poem: Butterflies

butterflies_5064146527

Last in a series of wonders in his life

the splendour of butterflies

as if till now he’d only improvised

 

what he called God.

Through those black years

ploughing, planting, felling logs

 

in a raw and freezing country

living from day to day

on a herring and a piece of bread

 

through those grey years

when God was an accountant

in the stony capital

 

the gift lay waiting for this sun

now opening

silk and purpled wings

 

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bohne/5064146527

 

 

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