There is a softness
A softening
They don't talk about

It happens
During the final
March of time

When the butterfly wings
We strived so hard
To achieve

Are crushed and faded
And torn
So we gently remove them

And join the caterpillars
Munching on leaves
On terra firma

The nectar we flew
So high to sip
Is but a memory

But the wisdom gained
From being aloft
And seeing...too much

Is weighty
And adds a patina
A gravitas

It is this heaviness
This heft of heart
That grounds us now

And it is ok
To grieve lost beauty
This is just another transition

Don sensible shoes
Do kegels, stretch gently
Set down whatever is heavy

Gravity is taking its toll
Now is not the time
To bloom

It is the time
To help other old butterflies
Remove their wings

To move into softness
To find warmth and comfort
In togetherness

To whisper stories
To inspire youth
To unfurl their wings

For it is the whisperings
Of the elders
That create the world.

bjbeyers 8/22

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