Still white lady sips on butterfly tea.
The butterflies passed at ripe old ages;
they’d committed their bodies to the tasty donation of science and teabags.
Her eyes scan forest as a visual shopping spree.
Body language comfortable and clear.
It’s a natural habitat, for her, to mirror.
Leaves strike her solid frame from time to time.
She looks onward at the trees, she pines.
Needles on the trees thread her hope,
then they stitch her clothes together tighter.
It is well with her soul as she recalls the lyrics to “It is Well.”
Her testimony is valuable beyond measure,
it has finally been discovered at the peak of her leisurely daily delights.
Nationality of Samaritan roots is no longer her primary identifying foundation.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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Comments (5)
I like this one
lol tea from geriatric butterflies... are there beebags too? This is great, I forgot she has a pitcher like the Woman at the Well 😇
Ooohhh this one is fancy! I lowkey love the “Needles on the trees thread her hope” line— poetic but also kinda funny in a stabby-hope way 😂
I absolutely love it!♥️♥️♥️🙏
This was a cozy, beautiful poem! Did you take the photo as well?