My poetry

Butterfly child



I look into the bathroom mirror
See the wrinkles
and the tired eyes

Where has she gone
the young girl
who collected caterpillars
in a toffee jar

Left off the lid that day
the yellow ones
and the hairy ones
climbing up the best curtains

Mum wasn't pleased
Get everyone of them
back she shouted

I counted them all
Some had gone
Hope they turned into
butterflies

Now I remember
and smile
at the child
I still am


By Jlc

A very nice poem Jan, which helped jog memories of my own. I'm 60, and still try to visit that boy who was me as often as I can. Thanks for sharing it with us.

John

Lovely.

I read John’s reply. For me it’s a beautiful image of what it should have been like to be a child. I think I finally found her though, and I spoil her rotten - the child within.

More please. That was beautiful.