Wind Dancer


It is nearly impossible to catch a butterfly
Or to match its beauty as it dances in the sky
Perhaps even morally wrong to try
But, this one flew into my eye
Then fell upon my pen there to die
Its brief brilliant flight at an end
The delicate dust, the magic stuff that transcends
This rust colored splendor in air
Did sparkle and shine in the light
One more time, one last dance to share
It poised there as if to take flight
Then fell over on the paper, with wings like fine paper
This splendor of life that had danced in the light and on air

Now it lay on my paper, my cold hard white paper
Fine copper and black lace a powdery smear
Even a poet with a magic brush and a tear
Cannot repair, cannot compete, or compare
With that delicate wonder of sunlight and air
That most delicate dance I cannot repair

Too soon and too brief but, for maybe one sigh and one tear
Too fragile for grief, that fragile Picasso of sunlight and air
That flitting bright wonder that had danced on the air

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