Milkweed Monarchs

I left some milkweeds in the patch,
of my beloved perennial flowers,
in the hope that there may hatch
striped caterpillars of rare powers.

I'd nurture them by simple disregard,
knowing the potential that they hold.
They'd form chrysalises, left in my yard,
gleaming green, glistening dots of gold

If I should see the moment when,
a new creature begins to emerge,
dewy wings start to unfold, and then,
the incredible flight is at its verge.

It daintily lights, but with grasp sure,
orange and black, in graceful pause,
gives no hint what it will endure,
when it pursues its destined cause.

Annually on predestined air lanes,
they span, unswerving, the hemisphere,
'til mid foreign cultures and terrains,
they are welcomed by crowds with a cheer.

A plan unwritten directs their course,
so that when time comes to depart,
where their ancestors gathered to reinforce,
their strength, they are impelled to start.

My mind's eye imagines the corridor,
like a pilot envisions the way,
where last fall I pictured I'd been before,
the scene changing before me each day.

When I laugh a bit at my awkward style,
making my way on solid ground,
with awe at its grace, inward the smile,
I imagine relief when flight's end comes around.

I honor the high royalty of the sky,
and hail the bright monarch--butterfly.
I see where my fact-fueled fancy leads,
when I have permitted these certain weeds.