The Collector

THE COLLECTOR

When you talk
The air becomes filled with butterflies
And while you talk
…………………….Surreptitiously
I catch them in my hands
And put them gently in my pocket
And when I leave you
I go home
Take them gently from my pocket
And arrange them
…………………….Like this
On a piece of paper
So that when you find out what I am doing
And no longer let them loose when I am there
I can come home
…………………….And remember …

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About Ben Naga

Pilgrim on the lam. Please feel free to explore the links to learn more. I trust you will find some things there will have been worth the effort. See you there.

Posted on March 3, 2015, in Poetry, Republished and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. Remembering the butterflies. Complete feeling of freedom. They only know now. Your poem tumbles like a waterfalls. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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