Lace wings it had, the butterfly

Painting ©Anastasiya Markovich


Lace wings it had, the butterfly,

pale and faded now that summer’s gone

and clings the mud of autumn.


Scraps, the colour of pressed flowers,

in the seething autumn earth,

remnants of a summer day.


Did the song end or did I stop listening

when the wind blew from the east?

Robin kept the notes for brighter days.


Lace and the ripple of music

run through the sodden grass,

and will you be there to chase the sun,

to paint the wings of butterflies

with rainbow songs the robin sang

when the dark is past and spring returns?

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

4 thoughts on “Lace wings it had, the butterfly”

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