The Monarch

The Monarch
Gossamer wings, fluttering past,
turning my head, moving so fast,
slightly churning, spatting the air,
fluttering on, without a care.

A thousand miles, a thousand more,
swiftly flying from shore to shore.
Bright tiny wings, cover vast space
brown golden hues, moving with grace.

Never tire, nor energy pall,
course aligned, answering the call.
Winter is nigh, summer retreats,
cycle of life, is now complete.

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