“She was there until she was gone”—Butterflies are free, like in the old seventies film.
And women are free as well, they may lite upon our branch for a few seconds…but we must not try to hold them.
They will come back if they wish.
Like this poem a lot, Neville.
j.

Hello Jacob, it is good to see you have joined the new gang .. and thanks tons for reaching out & considering my little but not so new scribble .. Indeed, many thanks indeed sir & wishing you well .. Neville 😎👍

Tremendous work, as always my friend.

Very much please indeed. Such fun to read your clever and lighthearted slice of the morning.
Happy me to have connected. Be well Emma 🙂

Many thanks Jim.. wrote that whilst still asleep – probably shows! However being an admitted scribbler I go with the flow.

Joy,
From what I know, this sounds like you, your life, your time, your place… all of it full of quiet beauty…
Vol

Like a film noir movie this has the effects of heartbreak and loneliness with a touch of moral ambiguity. I can feel the barren parts of life all over it. Good one, J.

I wholeheartedly agree with Tim. This does have a film noir ambiance to it. Were you by any chance wearing a trench coat and a low brimmed fedora while writing it? Lol, so good to have your presence here, J. Like you never missed a beat!

Reminds me of all those movies about city angst. (I am suppressing a rant about how much I hate New York), and all it’s denizens… I can see them now walking down seedy sidewalks in the rain, their furthest horizon in easy walking distance. Beautiful imagery sir, and a nice reminder of how happy I am in a town with only about twelve occupied houses.