“You’re not a butterfly,”
Said the squirrel.
“Those are leaves.”
He flicked his bushy tail.
“Haven’t you ever wanted
To be something other then brown?”
The ant straightened his wings
Which were drooping down.
The squirrel went silent,
Then darted off, but came back
As something new–
“I’m a peacock.”
YOU ARE READING
Poetry in the Woods
PoetryThree poems that have nothing to do with a dragonfly-octopus, but have everything to do with an ant that knows how to throw a party.
