Love is a fickle thing
“it smites my heart with sudden reckoning”
says a poet from long ago.

I cannot remember who
but they capture my attention so
that poet

Love is the elusive thing I cannot catch
like a butterfly flitters away from a child
in a field

I decided long ago to sit and wait
for it to alight upon me

that butterfly

So I sat in that field
watching the butterfly flutter and dip
flirting with my heart

fickle thing

Inconstant thing,
that butterfly
then, like the sun rising over the trees

an epiphany

Love is not the butterfly
I do not want iridescent fragile wings
that cannot hold up

when the weather is not so fair
the sun not shining through
those jewel colored wings

A strong wind will blow that butterfly
quickly off course
leaving me yet again

feeble thing

I lay back, upon the ground
the earth solid beneath me
what I’d been seeking
had been quietly there all along.