Talking of butterflies:
That gargantuan golden swallowtail,
The lovely, flitting white and yellows,
Each haunts my gardens:
Their flights realize
Heavenly grandeur
Bursting tenuous bonds;
Giggling at my stereotyped despair
Their elusive escapades
Mock living in a dish,
Under covers
(Tatted piecemeal leftovers).
They—such pioneers of aerotowing
Bliss,
Spectral ramblers,
Auspicious spiralers of unbridled canopies,
Gold dust varnishers,
And just sometimes, just...
A deranged crooked flyer
In aerial combat avoidance
Of a flycatcher’s meal.
Such few takers
For spying on rambling commas!
(Much less semi-colon highland flits!)
Wanton exercisers—gliding, lolloping, swooping;
Swooners, following sweet nectars,
Startled, wondering at a gigantic Monarch
Reigning beside mere humble buds.
Tiny paradisial light sweepers
Passing in review before electric-blue dragonflies;
Skippers, Gatekeepers, and all tiny sentry commons
Humming soundless tunes and bowing;
Still that buffy private of jagged jaunt
Who ‘jested, quaff’d and swore’ explodes
In fantastic eddies, amazes in dusky flings.
Hermit flies and chalky scrubbings
Strike in primeval beauty along great closed-over avenue;
Rebelling ghosts of spreading habitats
Along ancient tracing of the railway network
Remind us of lost landscapes of managed human brambles.
Undaunted white, yellow, brown and red wings
Exult in hidden elixirs of rampaging alien invaders. ~©7/31/13
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