Clinging to wavering bud
early dewy nectar lightened her wings
felt weakened by
travelling briskly from
Northerly cold against cuts of branching
pine and needles through
whence she came easing out
if not for just this very minute’s reward
Fluttering already towards the end
her last few hours clouded
by quest for liquid ambrosia
Holding steadfast
to her yen for living
Such vibrato, instinct and gentle beauty
her wings translucent from noon day’s sun
Casting valiant caution to the wind
she recalls easier days amid cocoon
No wasps ready to strike her down into becoming nothingness again
Cicadas shadow the canyon trees
in cacophony threatening
her short existence
Nary mind once a crow swooped down on her fragility for a mid day snack after pecking orders on last night’s garbage
Shuddering away from thoughts
of being picked apart alive
by forces stronger than she,
she, oh yes, she
perseveres
regardless
spreading her wings
settling softly to her fate
of her impending exit one might call doom
but she finds the most she can
in her brilliant although brief life
Instinct calls her past the nefarious thorn finding bloom to her comfort and salvation from what was into just being
Mindful of her needs tho delicate enough to avoid over consumption she sets sights among hummingbirds hovering
in crown formation over violet buddleia called by her namesake
She may not survive long but she making best of her short time upon the terra among the flora fine and true
Surrendering to her fleeting life embracing each precious moment
Lending grace to the garden.
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