Connie Yost (5/27/38 / Reed City, Michigan)
Lightly On My Thumb
So lightly on my thumb she clings
And tastes the goldenrod I bring.
She suffers from some unknown thing
For slipping from her silken robe,
She can't unfold her wings.
For three hard days I see her try
Then breath a long disheartened sigh.
I start to ask the question why'
Then ask myself, 'But who am I? '
She has always been God's butterfly.
Comments about this poem (Lightly On My Thumb by Connie Yost )
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