21/9/2012
By the rear, in the heat of Matahari, teaching through,
I’m watching one butterfly explore in a small flower ballet,
by a four prong purple leaf, crouching by the earth
the stem of many a fluffy top wander in the breeze
that will scatter the seeds through the half-overgrown garden
By night, they will be gone;
the Malay grass-cutting chap is going to wage war…
a pity; I quite enjoy it that way;
it is beginning to clouding, a thunderstorm
on the horizon of descending temperature
