What Would Emily Say?
The creek is still here
skeleton bush returns bit by bit
but the swinging tree by the waterhole
is gone.
The tiny blue trimmed butterflies
hide with the dandelions
gold and brown ones nestle
deep into the green grass
capturing them with my camera
leaves them free
to fly.
Why do some children take red nets
and break wings of such beauty?
Why can’t they let them be?
Two friends at a round table
discussing Emily Dickinson
and how she had to speak to others
from another room.
She needed so much room
to write her words but
still she hid them away.
Butterflies hiding in the grass
sing of Emily and wonder
What would she have made of cyclones?
(c) Words and Images by June Perkins
Ripple Poetry 
Reblogged this on Pearlz Dreaming.