top of page


A butterfly haunts me,

Oft more frequently than not,

Flit and flickering about,

Quite boldly lighting on my sun soaked shoulder,

As if whispering in my ear . . .

Lovingly unafraid as I work in my garden and such.

She seems to know when I need her most,

And out of nowhere,

Fills my being once more

with life.


Mom, “I’m here,

And I miss you dearly.”

20 views2 comments

Recent Posts

See All
Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page