Butterfly Ripples

Motives

What is the thing that pulls him hither?

is it the fight of a sideless feud?

is it whatever suits his mood?

And if he heard the slightest slither

While the autumn’s in its wither

would he run to examine crude

the braying horses being shoed?

And there would he a while dither?

to make a joke of blacksmith’s blush

And he’ll chase the chase, to all its end

even if that end shadows nigh

And soon the breath from his lips hush

and breathless, shaking, tries to defend

but slowly, slinking, he doth die.