Burying The Butterflies

Silver-spotted Skipper, Epargyreus clarus

Silver-spotted Skipper, Epargyreus clarus (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The smoke that accompanies out celebration

Is not without just fire, but crackers,

Up in the sky for a few shimmering seconds,

We thicken the air around us for days.

 

We can shut our windows,

To the toxicity,

But where will the creatures

Of the open meadows go?

 

Helplessly attracted to the light,

They try to, and get inside,

Moths and butterflies,

In large numbers, with less number of choices.

 

Sitting on my swing,

Or books, or easel, or bed,

They are everywhere,

Like a second coat of paint.

 

But die they will,

And pretty soon,

And we drove them to it,

Shortened their life to half,

In the name of God.

 

In the morning when I get up,

My floor covered with these

Fallen angels,

With a great sigh and resolve,

I arrange for a mass funeral.

Image

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s