Passing By, by Paul Beck

Passing By


I watched it fly to and fro

A butterfly or moth?

Which one I do not know


Like a flake of summer snow

With zig-zag indecision

As it sought a place to go


I looked as it hovered about

Quiet as a field mouse

Over cone flowers sun devout


And in a moment did alight

Upon rough purple bristly tops

To feast upon its sweet delights


An oasis to quench its needs

Before launching airborne again

To seek another place to feed 


Far flew our little white wing

Summer visits too brief

For one left to wistful thinking


Paul Michael Beck