With wings afire …

A butterfly with wings afire

in the setting sun,

sups on a meadow flower

with delicate precision.

Alas, its life is short,

a brief fluttering in the light.

I wonder if the recompense

is no unfilled hour to waste.

Or does its sole delight

lie within this flower

where all the pleasures of the world

permeate its taste.

Is nectar more honeyed,

more sweet than any mead;

finer than the most sought blend

or the finest wine?

Is it the elixir without end

with a flavour sublime;

the eternal essence

from a distillery divine?

About atomsofstars

Reticent .. but I hope my poetry speaks for me .. Favourite quotation .. ' Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.' Ludwig Wittgenstein
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