Rosie Kersley Williamson is a young writer based in Cornwall. She enjoys crafting poetry in her free time that captures the experiences and emotional journeys she has encountered so far in life. Rosie has been published in Issue Nine of the Haunted Words Press.

Glass Butterfly

Rosie Kersley Williamson

In my mittened hands so feverishly rubbed together,

Land woeful snowflakes that melt in silent despair.

Until a single drifting flake twirls into my icy palm.

I breathe softly over its still-frozen form.

It unfurls with glassy blue wings

Delicately held aloft by spindly grey legs.

The butterfly shivers under my wondrous gaze.

Rough and tumble children squeal,

Tiny feet cresting the hill to appear beside me.

I quickly hide my cupped hands,

And nervously laugh as the children ask to play.

My butterfly flutters under my coat,

Settling above my harshly beating heart.

At home I carefully close my door,

Sitting on the rumpled blue duvet.

I bring thawed red hands to my chest.

The butterfly hesitantly crawls onto my finger

Its glass wings whisper open and close,

Dancing rainbows glint in the corner of my room.

At the creak of footsteps the butterfly hides once more.

Murmurs bid me goodnight and I reply with a smile,

The door clicks shut.

Smiling face sinks into a mournful sigh,

The butterfly can only be for my eyes.

Until one day I will sit in a graffitied corner,

With another quiet child.

The playground roar muffled,

By the bricks that we will lean on.

And I will hold up a tentative finger,

To show them my glass butterfly.

They will grin and blow softly,

On its delicate frozen form.

The butterfly will leap into the clear summer air,

Rainbows dancing across its snow-blue wings.

And we will laugh as it flits away

Into sun-soaked skies.

Page updated

Google Sites

Report abuse