The Day Of The Butterfly

Old and rugged

a hundred winters she'd seen,

the curtains hall opened up

for the spring to rise in front of my eyes;

Foggy window 

steam of nature's colours

and boiling water,

announced mid-morning tea.

Never too late

As the day comes,

when caterpillars grow to fly,

a flower will bloom in a painting room,

children of the world

will strip away their chains

to finally be what in dreams have already seen.

This poem will see the light of day

transcend beyond the blank page;

The presence of change

will brush away what makes us feel safe,

do it all over again;

as the butterfly births and dies

but it's beautiful seeing it fly.