BUTTERFLY MOTHER

Dancing the tune of the breeze

She lifts her coat sleeves –

And freezes as if in prayer

To breed in the shady leaves;

Green confetti in air.

On the rib-case underneath –

A waxy seam of leaf,

Tiny eggs, colour of cream

Are stuck with butterfly paste.

Blue lady lifts as a dream,

Leaving them, to hatch or waste.

Who knows where she goes

Blue butterfly mother?

© Dianne Bates