Spring has arrived, and with it the light:
There was a butterfly flitting in my yard.
Her yellow wings carried golden light,
So she greeted me in a fluttering flight.
As soon as I walked out again today,
My pretty butterfly lay dead on the ground…
She carried death on her yellow wings, she doesn’t live.
In her perished spring, the light went out.
She fluttered easy around me yesterday,
Herald of spring renewal, golden-being.
And now she grabbed spring light with her:
On her yellow wings, golden light is numbed dead.
However, I am glad to see her:
With her fluttering flight, she permeates my soul.
Her yellow wings flutter still as a memory –
She guards even dead, celestial golden light.
24/03/2022., by J.W. Cassandra
