Dizzy these summer airs,
I flew where ever I would.
Sun-rays, rain’s drop
the sharp breezing edge.
I was monarch, king
sought seeker of milkweed.
Last of ten generations, long
lived for your gestation.
And when I died
we had flown
a thousand leagues
gathering dream-song,
canticles of praise.
So enjoy the warmth
of love’s milky days.
Gather your wings
mica rich, waxy bright.
For this chrysalis will fly.
©️ Dai Fry 24th April 2020.