Tiny Lords Of Majesty Poem by David Whalen

<center>
It's due to a facet of your hectic nature
That you repose for such a short time
Totally remiss in your ignorant bliss
Unaware of your beauty sublime

A deep sip of Milkweed nectar
With proboscis quick unfurled
Diaphanous wings idle gently, lazily
Then long probe is once again curled

Magnetic fields tug once again
Beckoning you once more away
Legs push up
Wings flex down
You're never long to stay

The compass of all your travels is
Directed by the Sun
Your ticket is punched both by Nature…
And solar winds
All wrapped up in one

Wings lightly, delicately dusted
In powder of black, red and gold
A tad tattered and ragged It's true
Yet still things of beauty
Truth be told

But also warnings
against Avian haste
as bright banners
Proclaiming: "Beware!
…Bitter taste! ! …"

Thousands of miles
of improbable flight
Through blistering days
And cold stormy nights

To attend a reunion
With millions
In whispering chorus
On a cool mountainside keep
Deep in a Mexican forest

Are old acquaintances renewed?
Relations remade?
In the trees garlanded
With color
In the cool forest's shade

Do they mourn for one's fallen
Along the way?
Do they have a collective consciousness
That they share In some strange way?

It soothes me to think
That they're sharing their lore
Of things that have passed
And of things,
still in store

They're mysterious
And amazing creatures
And are unique to my eye
Lords of all they fly above
…Monarchs of the sky…