In essence, you are neither
lover nor demon, but
the temperate wind
stirring my sorrowful
past – conduit of unrest.

(Tuesday, I borrow from my Twitter poems.  Visit me @Vjknutson.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

16 thoughts on “Butterflies”

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