A Cloud of Ragged Butterflies (new sonnet)
Sometimes when weariness of world takes hold,
I cry out, “Why should I remain on earth?
What point in watching tragedy unfold?”
(Forgetting just how much one’s life is worth).
And as I speak, a torpor comes to blight
me like a cloud of ragged butterflies
whose undulating and uncertain flight
undoes my strength and then assumes my guise.
Yet, even as those questions cursed my lips,
I formulate the answer in my soul.
An atavistic youthfulness then grips
my heart. A voice replies to thus console:
“Your work on earth has hardly yet begun.
It’s Me who’ll choose when all that work’s been done”.
© Copyright, Alan Morrison, 2022
[The copyright on my works is merely to protect them from any wanton plagiarism which could result in undesirable changes (as has actually happened!). Readers are free to reproduce my work, so long as it is in the same format and with the exact same content and its origin is acknowledged]
The Naked Troubadour 
Mar 13, 2022 at 4:13 am
Absolutely! Well said. Please pray that I can pull myself together to write sonnets again.
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