Migrant Monarch Beauty
by M Frost Delaney
A butterfly—an ancient arc of flight
with wings the tint of fire, gentle crepe
that flutters when alone in northern days
and soars in migrant swarms to hibernate
in southern mountain forests to survive.
You seem to prance New England summer fields
until the heat subsides and August yields.
And then you feel the inner call to thrive
in winter months in Mexico—not fate,
but instinct to endure. Your group displays
as thousands of you migrate south and drape
your orange wings, ornate with black and white,
on trees and floors of sacred mountain sides,
and rest before the cycle of your Ides.