BUTTERFLIES

I have only one daughter whom I dearly love

It's your special day, sweet Cristín
And I have naught to offer, just words
To touch the wholesome heart,
Perhaps incline some curious eye.
Words, like wings, flitting
Across a back-lit page;
A shadow dance of sprightly things.
I have witnessed from these familiar,
Far-flung shores, singular stands of
Foxglove, spangled and arrayed, under a
Panoply of seasoned furze and whitethorn.
Because you, sweet daughter,
Will always remain for me,
The harbinger of June things:
The white nights, the woodlark and rare
Butterfly, wingèd Tyrian blue, that pauses
To alight upon my welcome shoulder.
And why your tranquillity and assurance
In these, my twilight years,
Can only endear me to you --
Mein kliner Schmetterling,
Mo feileachán milis--
My sweet and dearest butterfly.

Raymond Pratt 06/2016