'The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough...'
[Rabindranath Tagore]
ah ... as the butterfly
so too the flower ...
so too the flower ...
and for both
in death
such delicate capitulation
colours that so subtly fade
as if not to tear our hearts too soon
with their absence
echoing life
their soft open forms
a silent supplication
poised
with such grace
in the place
between two worlds
as the butterfly
so too the flower ...
so may we ...
tenderly
welcome the infinite
be our moments many or few
...
