Monday, September 22, 2014

A Fragile Thing with Wings

So, where will we be when all the butterflies have gone?
When we have harvested, and sprayed and obliterated
Every meadow and unplowed field?
What if there is no fluttering in summer, no metamorphoses happening?
What if there is no renewal and transformation? Will all hope then die?
Will we, as a human race, forget serendipity and joy and the ephemeral pleasure
Of a fragile thing with wings?

~Kathie Adams Brown (September 19, 2014)

This poem is dedicated to my friend, Roy and his blogpost: A Butterfly Day


  1. Your poem rings so true. Here in Illinois the cornfields no longer are separated from each other and the roads by hedgerows. Herbicides and pesticides soak the manicured lawns and are washed into the waterways.

  2. Kenneth, It is such a tragedy that keeps going on! It used to tear my heart out when I lived in AZ and saw the pesticide and herbicide company trucks pull up in front of my neighbor's houses on a regular basis! All I could think about was the poor birds being poisoned by their sprays!


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