Blue butterfly 

In some of the tribes
reckoned it is, the blue
butterfly; a mark of
Spirit speaking through
mutation and swap.

Fetching unforeseen
amicable felicity when
blotched,
A wish one brings in comes
true.

It, a badge of ecstasy and
euphoria; grave pruriency
in life.

Strolling in the day of oomph,
a few inches in the early spring,
off the ground, ostensibly,
we behold blue butterflies
zigging and zagging in the
first snowflakes fluttering
down between the trees.

They, coming on the scene
in spring,
and their second-generation
coming off in summer,
Their kind of larva fond
of holly and ivy.

Wings are fulgent blue,
rimmed with ebony.
The blue butterfly with
wings spanning from
five to eight inches.

Sublime pink roses and
they in the snow and frost
on a blue and pink setting.

Heavenly butterflies in the
snow on the wild grass and
flowers reveling in and basking
in the aroma in a flurry of wind
and the sky flakes from the sky.

And in the mire of satiny
snow every so often we
behold
Or
At times, we behold along
the railing,
a small, brown sack hung
to the wood seeming something
like a wheel is sturdily clasped in
place by fine strings.

©Adi Adnan