Delicate delights with wings scatter,
when she brought out the milk platter,
for the Faeries in the garden of hope.
Slowly the butterflies perch on top,
with slurping Faeries do not stop,
until the milk in the plate is dry.
Oh how those specks of wonder and light,
mingled with Faeries who come at night,
tend to our hearts with joy and delight,
Even unto this day throngs doth thrust,
butterflies signal an opening of a gate,
for those first awake to find their fate,
But now on my shoulder a Faerie tear,
so no longer expectant when they appear,
and in all of Gods creations to survey,
a souls assent, our butterflies convey.
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