The Child and the Butterfly

A late Summer afternoon,

In an Enid Blyton garden,

Of tall trees, flagrant canna, poppy, lilies,

Secret flowery arbor,

And a fragrant petal laden breeze.

Everywhere,

A colourful dreamy haze

Soft flutter, incandescent radiance

Flower or flitting form?

Delightful dalliance,

Eternal dance at Nature’s temple...

Your tiny form,

Flits much like the butterfly

Vain wanderings, squeals and appeals

To catch one as carefree…

I deign not to yield to that urge

Though I crave to dust my fingertips

With that gorgeous luminosity

Oh! The stardust close at hand…

A monstrous humanity

Lurks outside these precincts

Lashing tongue and gnashing teeth

Harsh words and harsher deeds…

Hey little one, ask not to go back

Let us stay, dwell and revel

In this deliberate distraction,

Let us hide here so we may heal!