Dance of the Butterflies

These butterflies cavorting on gossamer wings
who frolic on the eddies of an autumn breeze
seem indifferent to summer passing them by.
To milkweed and asters yielding their hues
for tapestries scattered across the trees.
Were they mindful as the songs of July
drifted southward, leaving the rustle of cornstalks
and the satisfying crunch of leaves underfoot?

Yet, these augurs of a certain future
leave them unpersuaded, as they frolic and whirl
in mesmerizing circles before my spellbound eyes.
And in the sheer abandonment of their unbridled joy
a sudden revelation for why they tarry so,
as the dance of the butterflies plays on.

By J.L. Lewis
Copyright 2025