My Little Moments of the Blissful

The little moments of my bliss, these slight and eerie timeless fractions,
Come at unexpected turns and twists, of my moods' tiniest distractions.

I catch them -- like a butterfly they land, into my open, eager hands.
Poised on my finger's tip so lightly, the butterfly is perfect, lovely.
It's just that bliss is thin, what with the butterfly's whimsical whim.

A trifle of a second later, another butterfly lands into my hair.
What is this with these butterflies today, I shake my head in brief dismay?
But I do not dwell on that one thought, for fear I might shake her off.

So stand I there, in the midst of sun, two butterflies at random mine.
I sigh in pleasure with the marvel of their colours,
But worry how destructible they're in their prowess.
And how they brave the tides of winds, on their spotted sonorous wings.

The butterfly poised on my finger, did not for longer moments linger:
Although I'd wished she'd stay for longer, her little flutters made a melody of wonder.
The butterfly entangled in my hair, took in my scent, and left me for a flower.
But that did not cause me the sadness,
One would expect from farewells to gladness.

My little moments of the blissful would come my way again in whispers,
They'd land on top my hair, around my fingers they would flare.
It's funny that these thoughts of bliss, at times are so easy to miss.



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