by stu pidasso
I sweep away the dry Mudville dust
in my garden (it is so hot I cussed).
Aided by the rain, a gentle shower,
A cool refrain for a summer flower.
Zephyr fleeting, cools the bloom
upon their meeting in my green room.
I pause to ponder and wipe sweat from eye
when in does wander a lovely butterfly.
She flits and weaves up high and down low
and quickly leaves having kissed my shadow.
With butterfly and breeze, blossom and raindrop,
beauty chooses to tease this old man non-stop.