Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward, 
 strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
 shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe, 
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
 big white butterfly!

Already it is October, and the wind
 blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have 
 fallen, the wind is polished with 
 snow.
Here in the garden, with red 
 geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
 white butterfly, content on my shoe!

Will you go, will you go from my warm
 house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
 black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the 
 arch-crest 
and in a strange level fluttering you go
 out to sea-ward, white speck!


Anonymous submission.