Monday, April 06, 2015


Under the broad wings
of the fame-soaked butterfly,
when did you, young man,
learn the confidence to speak,
to contradict a father?


He keeps no promise,
if evil is done thereby,
forswears even gods--
but his father's foolish vows
guards to his own destruction.


The tall, light red roan
and the burnt orange laces:
they are only yours,
but the butterfly roundels
are much more yours, and much less.

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