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Shineby Nancy ClarkBut not this stately yellow butterfly With flexing wings outlined and veined in black. He lit upon my golf ball, which gleamed white Against the green, and held there like a tiny Lunar lander setting slender legs Upon the dimpled surface. Quite deceived, Beguiled by shine, he stayed, expecting nectar Finding just a barren, foreign place Like sun-kissed desert plain or sparkling ice. No comfort there, his instinct erred, he flew To seek a place befitting butterflies. |
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