Monarch Poem by R B Seals

Aerials decline on sunlit wings

As season's end shifts to cold;

Orange and black attire fading-

A life no longer self-controlled.


Cohort, regal friend of flowers;

Found in garden, glen, and field;

Turns course in the final hours-

Nature's scripting not revealed.


So where does the butterfly

Go in a world not prone to cry,

Obliged as those before to die?


Indeed the final flight is flown

To a site unsought and alone;

A secret, sacred place unknown.


A hidden venue no one will see

Liken to lost meadow or valley,

Or unseen flora or forest tree.


A witness not, no time to tarry

As few remains are left rarely-

Nothing to waste, nothing to bury.


Tradition honored, little fanfare;

Again so often, so few will care

As Nature offers a silent prayer.