Animal print stained glass
Like this hang glider
Visible against pottery blue sky
Hooked on green,
Slurping scarlet without a word
Wings speaking with praying hands
Fine line the reach
between heaven and earth
Can we hope to contain this life
Our own heart, our own planet
its voice,
It’s repeating grief.
Bye Bye Butterfly
Life at No. 22 
I didn’t get a picture, but this profound, evocative, poem doesn’t need one
LikeLiked by 2 people
The reason for no photo is that I changed my mind regarding the first one I put on, as it wasn’t framed correctly. Will try again. Thanks for the lovely comment, Derrick.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Suzanne, a very fine poem for the ages. You are good at this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks very much, Tracy and I would appreciate all constructive advise to improve. Some are easily obtainable then others are “what was I thinking” 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I know what you mean. Some people have told me that poems are always a work in progress.
LikeLiked by 1 person
They are correct, I won’t say how many times I have edited most if not all of my posts 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person