Visitors

Already the aquilegia have gone,

they have transformed themselves into

the little green closed-up flames of seed fixed to their

starting frames - and waiting.

Waiting?

For their count-down to zero.  They are so

silent!  How can such delicate little diaphonous

tints metamorphose into such sharply

closed-in seed-satchels, impenetrable except to

a new brutality - and toughly green!

They must contain the fire of life, the fire of

happiness, like matches before they flare

up dangerously.  But now they are silent

before they secretly campaign to spread

their empire and establish their colonies

of purple, white and pink spread wings while

I must wait and wonder why they mean

so much to me when they have no voice

to sing, only have their shining silent butterfly

beauty.  And so they come and go like lightning

in the night and come again bringing

their happiness while I am here,

here, or sweetly slipped away.