A Butterflies Query & A Little Girl's Anomaly...
An Ediths Checkerboard spoke to a child,
asked, why do butterflies die so young?
I have no idea, I 'm just a little girl, but
Chrysalis and Wing-dusts do take its toll,
and a plethora of the forementioned two
has propensity to transmorgrify an imago
into a houndstooth, wool eating hole making
mother munching moth of Versace tasting,
albeit, ha-ha, that really never happens, at all,
as I heard a wise cat tell a ''piller'', TALL
that you can never ever really 'catch a' piller',
for their addiction to flight is a dangerous thrill-er
until the 'piller' is caught, cuffed...redeemed-
so I found out one day reading Time Magazine
You see 'pillers' fly high... just like you,
it's what ''pillers'' and butterflies do;
they just land from a different dimension,
due to take-off and half-baked suspension,
and I heard that it's scarry and so temporary
that it obscures the ''pillers'' perception.
My, my said Edith, how precocious you be,
How is it you possess such knowledge of me?
an erudite scope of polymorphistic knowledge;
might I ask if you've attended a bug college?
Your amplitude finds me and shines me,
my family and fellow liepidoptra seeds!
Said the little girl to the Edith butterfly,
with a wide white-tooth mile of smile
mischevous, perhaps but quite wise
that shone through her little girl eyes,
'I 'm not sure, to be sure,
but one twilight, by shore
I saw a Brood of butterflies 'neath the sun,
and I think butterflies could live past year one
if they, and their mates could curtail their Brood-ing
that they appear to exercise with such flair and well-doing,
in the late afternoon by the curious loons
as sun passes torch to the new evening moon,
behind the swampiest of weed that guises the bay
where butterflies choir their Brood-ing ways
'neath the summer sky of celestial light
as they kick-up their wing-dust all through the night.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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