Saturday, June 25, 2011
on a neighbor's porch,
a flutter catches my eye:
surfing the breeze
with her zebra wings,
brushing a speck of pollen from the green hosta,
pausing to sip from a damp marigold,
kissing the cheek of St. Francis,
then off again to curtsy
to the iris, and the rose.
I wonder if she's lonely here:
I haven't seen her kind before --
perhaps she was blown off course
by some catastrophic storm;
one of many creatures
left homeless by a wild wind.
There are others of us, you know,
who don't belong --
and yet we do, and thrive,
transplanted and transformed,
flapping our zebra wings for joy in Oz,
thrilled at the sight
of all this unexpected color...
Posted by Diane Walker at 6:18 AM