The Visitation. (Completed Poem)

Today, on the feast of The Visitation,

A pastel blue butterfly flew into my garden

And alighted on a branch

Of the wild white rose.

I stood quietly watching, afraid to move

In case I disturbed the sudden peace

That this creature had found

In my miniature garden

Just a breath away from the street outside.

The butterfly, riding the cusp of the wind,

Glided over the wall from the busy highway

Into a living space, so different from

The tarmac desert littered with traffic,

It seemed another country.

I had never seen before such a pastel blue butterfly

In the walled seclusion

Of my North London garden,

So I stood and watched without saying a word.

I stood and watched, my camera unused,

The lens too slow to catch an image

Of a creature weaving between the branches

Of a disorderly briar rose.

And I was thinking, as I stood as still as a rock,

That the sky pale colour of these butterfly wings,

Is a similar blue to the cloak of The Virgin

As depicted in ancient frescoes and icons.

Today is the Feast of The Visitation,

And it seems that this morning I have received a guest

Into the sanctuary of my garden,

A stranger bearing good news.

Her wings, balancing fine patterns on the morning air,

Shape delicate dances of praise.

 Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 

May  31st. - June 1st. - 3rd.2021.