bad poetry

butterflies fluttering

buttering flies and sighs

with sweet soft lies melting

in the sun.



orange flowers and blue flowers

and rain showers and idle hours

wasted writing about it all

as we run



in pink satin and silk and

milk white lace and linen

under delicate face as we race

to find the nets



to snatch a catch of colored wing

and other things to sing of spring



where memories of families

with destineys to bare

are lost on butterflies

as they fly by and I can't help but stare



this is all, i'm sure, bad poetry

i'm sure that anyone can see

but if it is bad poetry

then bad poetry, it seems



is me.