Thursday, 1 August 2013


Drawn out by the sun
Relishing the heat
Attracted by the flowers
Flutterbys we meet

First arrive the Brimstones
Erratic in their flight
Delicate black markings
Upon their purest white

Next to come are Blues
Less common than their name
Fly around in pairs
Perhaps it is a game

And then the eyes we spot
The peacock has arrived
Wasps take just one look
Then leave quite terrified

Flutterby oh butterfly
That's what my gran would say
What a memory to hold
On such a beautiful day

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