Swallowtail Encounter

 

As I drove along, I spot her

Floating, yellow and black spotted

wings spread apart,

riding the soft breeze

until she rests for a moment

among roadside blooms.

One moment, then frantic flitting

from flower to flower

wings pull and push air

like a crewman’s race oars

going upstream.

I marvel at her energy

as she collects and carries pollen

beauty in her every moment.

Brightening her corner of

this asphalt country Carolina lane.

I have pulled over to watch her.

She continues her frolic, her

feisty dance on her petal stage

then, dipping her

wings as if to salute me,

takes off across the field

searching for another

batch of blooms.

I drive on, smiling.

 

As soon as I heard the jig, I began to serach in my files for a poem I began and could never finish—the music was the key to finishing ti—so here it is—if using parts of an older poem disqualifies this, then I also offer the short poem below

 

 

 

Dancing from bloom to bloom

Swallowtail offers her

Yellow and black wings

As contrast to the bright

Blue cloudless sky

And the array of  purple

Mexican petunias. She flits

From bloom to bloom,

Tapping her delicate toes

Into the pollen, Some for her

And some for the next plant

On her stage.