It is an air of pink and white butterflies
that hops, and hides suddenly--
and hangs loose, and glitters
without pausing in a while,
and looks not back in belief or disgust--
shrinking, with steady relief,
of an august afternoon and
orange peels and saw dust
and plays left,
in the middle.
As if it is an oil painting with a little drama. I like it.
Originally Posted by Angel S
Love how you played with words and turned them into colours
you seem to have some art of appreciation in your ways ... love it, thanks a lot!
Originally Posted by Devilio
An air of pink and white butterflies? Seems deliberately ambiguous to me. But fascinates me too. The colour and movement are balanced . A good poem
I thank you...
Originally Posted by sadhana
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