Feb 7th
they come to you
like butterflies
in all
their pretty colours
while eyes are closed
you’re half asleep
tucked up
beneath soft covers
you know
as sure as life and death
those butterflies
won’t stay
that lilting rhyme
that perfect thought
won’t see the light
of day
you need to reach out
for your pencil
notepad
in the dark
capture all that smart
but you are drifting
in and out
convinced
within your heart
you will remember
those sweet brilliant lines
you won’t
those gauzy wings
will flit
like youth
they will depart.
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