Painted Lady Poem by Stephen Harris

You were born an emerald among thistles.
Vulnerable to the eye, yet destined to fly with angels.
Your soft bristles promise the cold, a poisonous flame,
That will burn and will blaze till you own a new name.

So sleep you gentle soul secured by silken thread,
For soon you will rise and perch on the old skin you shed.
Your beauty, unmatched by those who'd wish to devour
Will soon flourish, and fly from flower to flower.

Now spread those beautiful, delicate, tissue thin wings,
Your warmth emanates, white orbs scatter to the winds.
Underneath you the tiger lurks by an autumn leaf
While two topaz eyes, blue, hold me spellbound beneath