Ten butterflies
flew out of her stomach,
they were like lilies
in the sun,
yet they were of all colours,
burst in havoc,
wings spluttered,
sparkles splashed,
undone;

one butterfly
was fiery and red,
she was off
to see honey and bread
with brave speckles of
yellow and black and orange -
in passion was her courage;

the second
was a blinding yellow and green,
fluorescent, painful almost,
a colour explosion
sharp and keen -
looking for juicy freshness
she flew, head foremost;

the third
was skinny
and long,
her skeleton
stood out,
her form
transparent,
yet strong,
with huge eyes
shining pale blue
and silver -
all around
the wings' edges
rippled a shimmering
shiver;

the fourth,
the fifth,
and the sixth
were all giddy and silly,
one could not make them out distinctly,
really;
their colour was jolly,
akin to a bubbling folly,
a heady array
of purple, and vinous, and gray,
and a sparkle of red and brown -
they fled in glee
to adorn somebody's crown;

the seventh
was the wisest and the fairest,
a wisdom fountain in the very form
of deep green
and the palest,
the palest yellow,
and a storm
of snow-white silver on its wings,
her eyes reflected ancient winds,
old woods and meadows,
restless seas and mountains' shadows -
she fluttered near
to chase away fear;

the eighth
was slippery and wet,
shining dark blue in one's eyes -
a still night, black rainy skies -
there was almost no light
and her sisters would fret
but in vain, for at the very bottom
her edges were tender,
the colour of cotton -
she'd be seeked for in despair,
as a token of hope
found in prayer;

the ninth
radiated pulsing pastel purple -
it glowed from within,
spreading out subtle light -
white veins adorned her wings
as spikes of wheels,
out of her center,
like a sizzling reel,
shone Tenderness - her teaching -
placid and bright -
she lingered about
her Mistress' kirtle
vibrating notes of peace
and of lucid bliss;

the tenth
was the Butterfly Lady of the Springs,
with bright and searching eyes,
and multi-coloured rings,
she was a mirror rainbow
of her fair sisters,
the most beloved daughter
of The Mistress -
flying about the world
with livelihood
she cried,
"Stand up and fight
for Love and Good!",
she spread the healing colour
round the Earth
so it be filled
with loud and needed mirth.

Ten butterflies
flew out of her stomach
and burst in havoc
round the world;

their Mistress no one ever sees -
she's the Forest Queen,
the unseen lass,
Aras of the trees, of the skies, of the grass -
whenever one thinks, "I got her", she flees;
the butterflies
will flicker her glimpse,
but only for a second
and maybe in one's dreams.

(c)kRu, 29.01.04-28.03.04