Poem:
a butterfly wakes a sleeping rose
bathing in the morning sun
which cannot be compared to anything
I’m fortunate as anyone
wishing I were that toothless child
unconcerned with much at all
trying to catch a butterfly
but I have no luck at all
and by the hours I’m taunted
you’ll never find her they say
would you rather be a prisoner of what is
or fugitive of what may
I embrace these thoughts in fleeting
which reoccur throughout the day
and can often be misleading
she only seems to fly away
Charles Lamar Garrison
DOC #A496360
