Frayed at the wing
signs of wear, tear
or life well-lived?

On a garden bench
I sat and waited
with camera primed
for its digital
magic upon a
worn Painted Lady
as it flitted thru
my garden in bloom
scouting sweet nectar,
and a moment’s rest
on its great journey
many miles from here.

Oh winged insect
tattered and worn,
once a lovely
sight to the eye,
you speak to me
in your silence
to carry on
your epoch trek
and spread life
for the future.

I am much like you.
I’m a gadabout
dressed in threadbare wings
still fluttering from
flower to flower
for life’s sweet nectar
and pollinating
grace for the future.