Requiem For a Eucalyptus Grove
Fragrance enveloped me
as I stepped
into the enchanted forest.
Dim light filtered
through the canopy.
Brown clusters hung from branches;
dead leaves, I thought,
until I saw
flutters of orange:
I had found
the magical place
where the butterflies gather.
***
The drought
has been merciless.
Trees are white skeletons,
the ground littered with bark.
Sunlight hits the dust.
Where
will the butterflies
sleep?
8/3/2017
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2017
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