the garden of france by anelephantcant
Click here to hear this 50-second poem read aloud:
The Garden of France
achingly
gently
slipping
lightly
almost tracelessly
through
the garden of France
leaving
only
in the wistful hearts
who sense
an ephemeral passing
a whisper
of love
a flutter
of desire
a sensation
of passion
a tear drop
of longing
and an eternity
of wonder
is the fate
the flight
the joy
and the tragedy
of the butterfly
as it seeks
the impossibility
of the flower
of perfection
doomed
to wander
forever
alone
in endless
heartache
anelephantcant 
I followed the butterfly on his compulsive quest.
Sadly no flower is perfect unless it is lifeless and manmade.
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And a butterfly can never love such a flower.
Or, perhaps, any other…
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As you said.
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