Dancing with lace-like shadows of forgotten worlds,
the tortoiseshell creeps
slowly, the last energies
to lie upon the rough bark.
With folded wings,
Madame butterfly is no more
til Spring.
Charlotte
Where koalas climb Your essence exudes Striped bark, An Everlasting glade Of inspiration Comfort and reassurance In a changing world. Oval olive leaves With yellow veins enriching The aroma, Crisp and sturdy. Your ghost white-dusted Cigarillo rolls, Like long brittle fingers Scattering the ground. Sometimes smooth and simple, Sometimes crispy and rough, your colourful patchwork; my secret makers-stamp revealed. Louise