Ladybug, Ladybug

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Draped in agile red with a black, fragile head,
she lights upon my breeze tattered shirt.
Her gay spots sing beneath teeny tiny wings,
as she scrambly-ambles for all she is worth.
First, she arrives, then others strive to join her,
until a single mingling of a clump they have gathered.
What do they imagine? What do they plainly see?
Some design of lines floating upon a flannelled pattern
of a sun-warmed and sunnier me?
I guess if I best attract a more amorous universe,
then why not also a cheerfully clad ladybug?
They say they possess a spirit abundantly generous
that delivers a gift of most fortunate daily luck.
So come and cover me, shy ladybugs, in your shadow.
Rest your wings and bring finer things into my morrow.
Ladybug, ladybug, may you rest best
upon my throbbing heart's-tired breast
as strength streams through me from some gentle ray,
into the warmth of another day
and together fly skies of fleeting sorrow above
into a brighter sunset of the most high's searing love. 

~P.S. Colley ~
c. 2025




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