Danaus plexippus Flocks Remember
a Prehistoric Everest
The butterflies recall an ancient slope.
The Monarchs flew for eons past a peak
Too high for them. Those insects had no hope
Of scaling it, this black and orange clique,
So huge and gorgeous that the angel cloud
Around God’s throne goes shimmering with wings
Of jealousy. Their loveliness is cowed.
Archangels feel the Monarchs wield gold stings
As they turn east to miss the mountain, miss
The ancient mountain, missing since its death
So long ago that even its last hiss
Is lost except in flocking shibboleth
Of Lepidoptera which don’t forget
Ancestral veering from primeval threat.
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