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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