The Flowers Dream of Hummingbirds
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
When butterflies fan wings while on a stone,
They do not dream, or if they do, they fail
To dream of us, our sadness when alone
Or, more, when we lie near in bed. Dreams sail
From them to otherwhere than our sad lot.
They do not care for men in love, or worse,
For women left unsatisfied by hot
Explosions in their guts. The wings immerse
Themselves in dreams of nectar, flowers, and fields,
And do not think of hungry birds on wings.
Perhaps the butterflies think beauty shields
Them from a swooping beak with throat that sings.
Perhaps the butterflies have dreams without a sound,
Dreams virginal as a merry go round.
~ Phillip Whidden