Lying on the ground,
He watched the clouds go by,
Drifting by a single butterfly,
Yellow and black like a bee,
A bee with grand wings.
One who will not sting.
Gently, it landed on his nose,
Against the grass, the wind blows,
Simply, it's a late fall day,
The weather began to drop,
The clouds seemed to stop,
Cold crept into his bones,
The butterfly withered away,
Yet again, here are the cold days.
Author notes
Ehh... Not much to say about this one.
A contest entry
- Contest 6 by Griswold.
900 points, ended October 26, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Like it?
Comments
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Personally I'm not a big fan of this time of year, I'm too skinny for cold and the autumn winds. It's doesnt help that I am 2000 miles from where I grew up in Southern Ca. in snowheresville.
Thank you for entering and best of luck to you in the contest... Scott
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OMG this is awesome! and im not just saying that!
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