Colours past.

[jaydee]

This is a poem I should have posted long ago.

A forest with broad brushstrokes painted. Green
and blue and brown the palette of the day--
but there! within that sunbeam's golden ray
a flash of colour. Movement barely seen,
yet captivating. Breaking from routine
I move towards it, hoping that I may
more clearly see this colour in the grey.
Today with fondness I recall the scene:
The butterfly is dancing on the breeze
itself a world entire, when to the bland
surroundings is compared. Entranced, I freeze,
I hold my breath and gently raise my hand.
This beauty I would crush were I to seize...
My heart nears stops as down she comes to land.