Garden view

The bougainvillea tried to compensate

For its tiny flowers, sedate and white,

It made of its leaflets a frothing fountain

Crimsoning my walls in the summer sun;

Trying its hardest to attract

Insects with its colored bracts.

But the butterfly couldn’t be fooled, he knew

Which flowers were richest in honey-dew!

My garden was the stage for his choreographed flight,

As his wings patterned the air with colored light–

Making of his day’s work a dance of delight

And I was left, lazily wondering–

Whether the soft shimmer of the butterfly’s wing

Was superior to the bougainvillea’s gaudy flowering!

 

 

 

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