LEST I MIGHT FORGET . . .

As you spread your wings

        and gazed at each blossom,

        my trimmings caught your fancy

        and pursued me no end;

You thought your quest has ended

        for a bloom that you could own.

Farthest from my thoughts was to deny

        that your flaps were a soothing symphony,

        that I beheld a rainbow so majestic

        each time your wings descended from the sky,

        and that your touch caressed

        as the blue canopy nurtures the earth.

My longing for your presence

        made me rooted on the ground

        and accept that I was earth . . . and you were sky,

        that I was chained, confined

        and you were as free as wind,

        that I was to wait and long for you . . .

Lest I might completely forget . . .

        I now let go of thoughts of you;

I, too, must ascend

        for the earth is not my ground;

I, too, must transcend

        this delusion I called my home.

I, too, must spread my wings

        for I must fly and wither not on the ground;

I, too, must try my flaps

        for I belong to the winds;

I must rise up, for the sky – which know no bounds

        -- is my abode.

I, too, am a butterfly

. . .    for I AM FREE AND NOT CHAINED.

philip briana

March 26, 1997