. Butterfly Habit Ungainly butterfly, Misdirected flight. Fascinating random, Unpredictable delight. To and fro… up and down And backwards if you please, Bumbling aeronautics Independent of the breeze. Unruly butterflies, Liberated dancers. Whimsically wonky Little hit and miss romancers. Playful little femme fatale, Capriciously she teases, Wobbling uncontrollably On butterfly trapezes. Captivating butterflies, Seeming to collide. Momentary coupling Till they once again divide. Still… just for a moment While they pause to kiss the flowers, On this sunny afternoon I’ll sit and watch for hours. . . Ugh! Creepy-crawly little spiders and ants, Keep working their way up the leg of my pants, Without so much as a ‘by-your-leave’ Or a ‘don’t mind me’, they go up my sleeve. They tickle and tickle till I lose my cool And I hop about like a crazy fool, Smacking myself up front and back With the flat of my hand and a wackety-wack __Just to get ‘em! I wouldn’t mind nearly half so much If before they visit they would get in touch, By phone or email or signed petition, And ask politely for my permission, To hop on board and invade my space But they just don’t seem to know their place, Creeping up onto my big bare toe, They call their friends and away they go, __And I hate ‘em! I wish I could sit in the garden for hours And listen to the birds and smell the flowers, But spiders and ants are most unfair When they sneak around the back of my chair, And ruin my day with their non-stop motion, Getting caught up in my suntan lotion, They tickle tickle tickle with no remorse, So I get fed up and I go indoors. __Ugh! . . Echoes He sings his songs into the night, His mating call is pure delight, And many a one can hear his plight, __Echoing through the fog. His urgent cry is so sincere, Creating poignant atmosphere. Who with a heart could fail to hear __His plaintive monologue? With plunks and trills he must convince, No greater charm, before or since, He surely is their moonlight prince, __Proclaiming atop the log. One by one they gather round, Leaping… leggy o’er the ground, Responding to that magic sound, __Floating through the bog. Their voices sing in sweet reply, Hypnotic like a lullaby, To soothe the hungry, yearning cry __Of one romantic frog. . . Norma Pain was born in Liverpool, England and now lives in Parksville, British Columbia, Canada. Thirty of Norma’s poems were published by Dana Literary Society, between 2004 and 2007 and she was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize by that same on-line poetry site. She self-published a book of rhyme in 2000 called Bulging Assets.