Butterfly Dreaming

Softly they tickle and caress 
the edge of my face. 
In disguise they creep 
below shuttered eyes…. tugging
lids in useless bids 
for my attention.

Creatures of a moment or less 
a beautiful thought 
in a shimmering dress 
that rise a smile unbidden
in praise of the beauty seen
in words unheard.

And then in the dawn, gone.
Not a filament 
or a fragment remains, 
no delicate wing that sings 
in blessed words crafted 
by angels. 

But yet I think 
that this is happy death 
to lie in silent repose 
like a summer rose 
on a quiet chest. 
To rest in the joy 
of butterfly dreaming.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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