Poetry: When the Butterfly Refused
When the Butterfly Refused
By Joni Scanlon
She is unlike a butterfly knowing of place,
Fluttering elegantly from brightly lit flower,
Until all energy gone, spent of all power
She swoons into much venerated demise.
She does not flutter gracefully.
She spins in fiercely defiant circles.
She has not learned yet to yield.
Stumbling first onto tree then fence post,
landing awkwardly on butterfly bush,
she re-alights, moves on, moves on,
never knowing the feel of soft landings,
the perch where she truly belongs.
Is she a butterfly - purple, yellow, and green?
Or a blue-black fly who mistook her role,
missing where it was once spelled neat
beside her reflection in a quiet pool?
Why outside peering in does she fly,
taunted by that old bother, passion?
Is it that with no learning in her eye *
she feels purpose where none exists?
Is she to be treasured by those so rare
they’d hold her in the prison of their hands
and seeking knowledge, find purpose there?
* Note: Inspired by William Butler Yeats'
Another Song of a Fool
This great purple butterfly,
In the prison of my hands,
Has a learning in his eye
Not a poor fool understands
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