Orange and black wings beat violently
Oscillating in traceable circles,
As the Monarch gyres around the killing jar,
Loosing particles of dust too small to see,
Till the final twitch of its scaled wings.
In time, even kings fall into etherized dreams,
To be pinned on a plaque and judged
But where's the merit,
When the soul sits on the geranium
Unfettered and unafraid?
It flies away...