AWAKEN butterfly, gowned of new wing,

for spring has dreamt her suitors of flower;

each in mad embrace of morning’s breath,

each a collective of odorous perfume

whispering across a sleeping pond,

ringed of new grass, capped of morning’s misty

sunlight, peeking through bony fingers of old oak-

carving enigmatic shadows of a weathered wooden fence

FEAR be at rest m’ lady butterfly,

so eager to command new blossoms;

For your wings are swift and crisp,

your heart is strong of common thirst

and time is young this day- it bears no tears

Head in hands staring out a classroom window