Pausing with Butterflies

Looking up with childhood eyes, amongst a flutter of butterflies,
I recall the bright blue skies when clouds were only cotton white.

Soaring high upon a swing I’d overtake my shadow with caterpillar toes,
free from the grip of societal shoes, wiggling towards the light.

Barefoot in the gentle grass, hands resting soft on muddied knees, I’d stop
to watch the chrysalis, marvel at metamorphosis.

I’d flit far from flower to flower, resting gently to take in colour, savour nectar.
I tried to create and replicate wings of wonderful beauty.

But symmetry got torn and bent, folding paper over paint.
Ragged wings begin to fade, when captured.

But sometimes, I find my butterfly mind with buttercup hope
glowing under my chin and I promise I’ll make time for time,

make time for a time when flight and flutter were mine,
tender in the moment.