Member Poem

Monarch

After Sarojini Naidu

O brilliant bug flitting my way,
you are only an insect, scientists say.

But I sometimes muse that you just might be
an intelligence agent from Zeon III

or a jewel that capers and darts in the light
or a wrestler of gusts like a skittery kite.

Perchance in your youth, O jazzy and bold,
you were spinning silk threads of genuine gold,

remade by magic inside a cocoon
to roam the world like an airborne tune.

But now, in the gloaming, you seem to me
the ghost of a fading memory.