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HONEY LIPS
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A YOUNG POET Honey Lips feed butterflies,
One by one as they fly by.
They stop to rest a spell,
Honey Lips feed them well.
Feeding them all the same,
Not even knowing title
or name.
Gathering them in a swell,
Honey Lips feed them well.
The monarch, most beautiful
to see,
It could be you probably me.
They need the sun to warm them
fast,
So nectar, Honey Lips will last.
To Honey Lips this is a game,
Treating butterflies, all the
same.
copyright heather burns
