The Butterfly Garden
I dug a hole within the Earth,
Just big enough to bury there
A bucketful of stony dirt,
And poured in it some fusty beer.
I planted phlox and zinnia,
Some goldenrod and lavender;
Hibiscus, pink azalea,
Lilac and purple coneflower.
The butterflies came winging it,
And gathered in a puddle club
Upon the beer soaked bucket’s brim,
Fluttering to sip the flood.
My garden was a sunny spot,
Where I could watch from house or yard
Without disturbing my mascots,
Whose vision of me was so blurred
Due to their nearsightedness,
That I appeared to them to be
Amorphous as the cumulus
That soared above so weightlessly.
These connoisseurs of flowers danced
Like fairies when I closed my eyes;
The sun was focused in his trance
Upon my host of butterflies,
Of which the Monarch, poison jawed
From sucking at the milkweed’s mead,
Curled up his tiny, tuby straw
And dared the crows on him to feed!
A Butterfly was I that day,
And dreamed that I became Chuang Tzu--
And kept my predators away
By waving my Owl-Eye tattoos.