Butterflies in my time

Flit into love like changing rhyme,

Change meanings all the same

Then flit away to whence they came.

In the valley on hills too

Speckled wood, chalk hill blue,

Charge solar powered wings

Vanish as such pretty things.

Tortoiseshell and peacocks try,

Take the nectar, quickly fly

Away as they flutter by,

Never stop, I don't know why.

Graham Lawes, Sholing, Southampton

Daily Echo poet-in-residence Polly Clark writes: a summary, fluttery poem by this poet, with an affectionate portrait of a special creature.

You can e-mail me on polly.clark@soton-echo.co.uk