Contributor: Paul Tristram

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I saw this butterfly the other day; it was a thing of such
beauty that I just had to stop and watch it until it flittered
out of view.
It was a kind of powdery white, only not a thin fragile kind
it was a thick healthy kind, but it had rust coloured wings.
I’m serious, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, it was
perfectly white (Almost too perfect) until halfway along the
wings (Yeah, that’s right, about by there, yeah!) and then it was
a beautiful orange, rusty colour, it was indeed magnificent.
I have never thought that rust was beautiful before, but the
next time that I see some, I’m gonna stop and venture a look
and damn it but I might discover something special and all
because of that little butterfly which flittered along the
grassy verge of a busy city street, while everyone refused to
acknowledge its existence but me.


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Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.