there are so many butterflies on the budlea plant at the front of my house.
you can stand, and just watch.
they go around thier daily life, like fairies.
drink sweet juices, with thier straws.
daring to gurgle, when nobody is watching.
they talk to other between sips, avoid that insect that stings.
gossips about the young girl that didn't play safe, who was eaten.
do they see the poverty, that most choose to ignore?
do they acknowledge the smiles from on lookers, commenting on thier beauty?
i hope not, for they deserve to be,
singing and smiling,
swooping and gliding,
sitting, innocently.
free.
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