I am black and white—and red all over the edge of my wing’s lower panel.

If I flap-flap right here, theory of chaos says it will tut-tut rain over there.

Those weary of dreary may vituperate me as the blame for their weathered storm.

But, where a leafed twig is a place to alight for peace, a bamstick’s fault-finding will never cease.

So, I out-seek company of kindred Lepidoptera, who pass on opps to be collected into a gipser’s space.

Even in a world widely wild, freedom from consequence remains a choice, not a fated, fettered case. ; )

Categories: Melange

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