Pure Joy

There flew before my eyes a butterfly:
Into that lovely moment I was drawn,
Was captivated, yes, and mesmerized,
Watching the wingèd thing ’til it was gone.

I do not wish that it had not flown on.
I weep not for its momentary stay,
Rejoicing that it ever came my way.

I took this photo in my family’s yard a while ago.

I wrote the poem above and then began thinking about how I can experience that with butterflies and flowers and things but not with people or events… instead I get so sad about having lost them. In fact, because I get super excited and happy about little things, people who don’t know me that well are surprised (one person “would have never guessed”) that I have depression.

Here’s a cinquain I wrote immediately after the Chaucerian stanza above:

Why can’t
I let people
Be like the butterfly,
So happy to have seen —  but no,
I cling