The Buckeye Confesses

[Baut Images: Buckeye Butterfly]

I must confess, O Son of Man,
I am merely a buckeye butterfly.

Once upon a time, I know,

The air was free from exhaust.

Who sails upon the summer breeze,

Loving all the lands that I see.

For once upon a time, I know,

The grasses were pesticide free.

And while flitting from flower to flower,

Ive seen the results of your power.

And once upon a time, I know,

The water ran free from your chemicals.

Watching my kin growing fewer and fewer,

As I felt the pain like a skewer.

And, I must confess, O Son of Man,

Much damage has been done at your hand.

Once upon a time...

Once upon a...

Once...

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

...and a big thank you Natasha for being you, and all that you do! ☺

I Remember Autumn II

[Baut Images: Amongst the Leaves]

I remember Autumn (as a child).

Smoky scents upon a crisping breeze,

And images of baked potatoes.

Frost.

Clear blue skies.

Hazy amber sun setting.

October's children running past the house.

But most of all, the cool, fresh evenings

That chilled me to the bone,

And made me long for All Hallow's Eve.

But I was a child (then).

A potential.

Dreaming.

Dreaming still.

Though the child's body has gone,

Yet, the child lives on inside.

I remember Autumn (with a sigh).

Roger Allen Baut

Posted for dVerse Open Link night

http://dversepoets.com/

Fire in Ice

[Baut Images: Fire in Ice]

  

I have seen the fire in ice
And sunshine days of a brilliant Summer.

I have felt the crisp bright blue touch
Of Autumn's frosty kiss.

I have tasted the flavour of snowflakes flying
And revelled in a pristine Winter bliss.

I have flown my kite on the breezes of March
And danced on that very first day of Spring.

I have seen the fire in ice
And wept at the beauty of all these things.

Roger Allen Baut

 

Wilde Roses

[Baut Images: Wilde Roses]

Come with me now to the place of wilde roses,
And listen well to the songs that they sing.

For they sing of a time and a place gone by,
Of which you, and I, only dream.

Come to the place of wilde roses,
And breathe in the air that they breathe.

For the air there is pure, and clean, and sweet,
And opens to a land faire and free.

So, come with me now, to the place of wilde roses,
To a new land, where all just can be.

Roger Allen Baut