Silver Spotted Butterfly Poem

by Ellen E. Taylor

Silver Spotted Butterfly. Lonniehuffman, Wikimedia.

The Gods of Everything are leaving:
Human  evil  fires  their rage!
Missiles, drones, bombs, greed, pride, thieving:
Times to end the Iron Age.

Grabbing  thunderbolts to throw
One  studies  Earth to pick his mark
But something stops him from below:
A project in Sequoia Park!

..where, fixed, with smooth, unerring  glove,
Attention rapt, and practiced eye,
A woman feeds the larvae of
The Silver Spotted Butterfly,

Deaf to guns and cries of anguish,
Looming chaos, toxic mist.
These winged spirits must not  languish:
Just a handful still exist!

The gods then through their memories grope
And their mythology unlocks:
For lo! This butterfly is  Hope
Escaped from poor  Pandora’s box!

..the frail but fervent Hope that flies
With all the griefs her box confined:
The fears, which hold us in a vice
And crush the soul of humankind.

Gone now the Olympian glares:
Their countenances beam with pleasure
For a beat, Eureka shares
A  godly  flash of Hope, a  treasure.

May our hands  be as unerring
As the woman’s  at the Zoo!
For Earth, scourge-stricken, frail, despairing
Silverspot leads  counter-coup.