The Girl and the Calico Butterfly

I have finally found a project. It came to me yesterday morning. A couple lines of a children’s poem. Since then the flood waters have been flowing. I have four poems written and several more in my head. I hope by the end of the year to have enough for a collection of children’s poetry that I can release. Here is one I wrote this morning.

What do you do with a butterfly
that looks like a cat?
What do you think of that?
The girl had never seen such a sight,
but it did not fill her with fright
and she knew just what to do.
She rose from bed to give chase
to the calico butterfly that looked like a cat
as it flew down the stairs and out the door
her bare feet plodding across the floor.
Out into the yard,
around the house,
to a maze of hedges the girl never knew.
How did I not notice this she wondered?
For if she did it was a place she would have wandered.
Through the green leaves
and bramble brush
the calico butterfly that looked like a cat
led her to a destination unknown.
But what could the girl do but follow still.
It was either that or climb home
through a windowsill.
The calico butterfly that looked like a cat
hoovered a foot above the top of the maze
the gaze of the moon illuminating its wings.
The girl followed and followed
night grass cool under her feet.
The center of the maze held the key.
To what she could not see
unless she continued to follow
the calico butterfly that looked like a cat.
Soon she would know where it was at.
The door to the key at the center of the maze.
It was all she could think under starlight haze
as she followed the calico butterfly that looked like a cat.
And that is when her thought became, drat.
Here was the sun, winking over the horizon,
and her outside, not in her bed.
What would become of her
when her mother saw
she had abandoned her sleep to chase
the calico butterfly that looked like a cat.
Heading for home she ran and ran,
arms pumping and sweaty,
feet slick with morning dew.
Home grew no nearer
no matter her effort.
And that is when she felt
the wet tenderness of mother’s lips
grace her forehead and realized
she had never left her bed to chase
the calico butterfly that looked like a cat.

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