The White Butterfly
That February day imitated
my weeping.
As Tears mingled
with a soft and steady
Rain
then rolled gently
across my cheeks,
the
Tears and Raindrops splashed to my feet..
I looked to Heaven, seeking
your Face,
I made a plea for God's
Sweet Grace.
There, on that wet winter
day of loss,
riding the pain of a broken
heart,
is where I met the White
Butterfly.
Gently, slowly it
fluttered by
I held my breath and watched
in wonder
as it hovered close enough
for me to Touch.
Then -
away
My Butterfly floated,
delicately on a cold,
damp breeze.
In my longing to see You
just once more,
I wondered,
Are you there, is it You?
.
Then I knew..
The
White Butterfly was
God's Grace
Showing me,
not your face,
But your
Eternal soul.
By V. Clark
Copyright 2005
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The
French garden poet Ecouchard Le Brun aptly noted, "The
butterfly is a flying flower, the flower a tethered
butterfly." |
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