Summer Butterfly Poem by Bernard Kennedy

White butterfly, lately come through meadow tilled field,
hesitant in this Irish summer, landing on the yellow buttercup flower,
bright against the purple thistle and ferns.
Moving through the blushing red of roses, resting,
from the casual sun, upon the cottage whitened
window pane. No turf smell but mow sound drone in fields.
From within the window frame looks out as if canvas
of Ben Bulbin, Sligo Bay, fields measured
by hedge, and roads, bordered downwards,
yew and pine, poplar, a trope of trees,
or couplet of umbrella against the rain, near monastery sound
of monk nonce, and echo forest cry, again, again, again,
of happy cooling students swim in lake post climb.
Sheep sound, cow sound again as evening hillside nature prayer as meadow evensong evensong, and hill sheep chorus.
The rain that dances on the window pane
dries out. The bay down, arms upward reach
as welcome. The linnets singles dance solo in the air.
While preying hawk swoops and sail in sky and
zipping down to branch and bough, and starts it circling
once again, again, and always again.
always starting over.

In the distant view, at Drumcliffe churchyard,
among his parsons forebears the poet sleeps
and rests his pen. The light breeze blows, as if
he hushes over noise the brook, slow sound and calming
with a mindfullness, calming words of evening prayer
like mystic song.