Psyche

See the lovely butterfly,

there sitting on the leaf,

and can you hear the west wind's sigh,

or have you gone quite deaf?

The pretty bug with pretty wings,

that sucks the flower's sap

to taste the sweetness of the things

that those bright petals wrap...

Just see her, gentle butterfly

that drinks, and creeps, and moves.

Of all earth's creatures, bound to die,

she is the one I love.

The Greeks would call her "Psyche," true,

and what great tales they'd tell,

but I've a sneaking feeling you've

not fallen for their spell.

She is the moment's creature, now

alone and ever so,

but if she'd be reborn somehow...

well, what then I do not know.

A hungry bird, a sharpened beak,

a lightning talons' flash;

the weakest eaten by the weak,

and wings crushed in the crash.

And in the bird, the butterfly

soars off to the above.

Of all earth's creature's, bound to die,

she was the one I loved.

(Photo credit: "butterfly on rose" from twistin on Flickr)

Check out The Giggling Stream on Facebook!