Come, Butterflies

I hope you don't mind my repeating myself.
That's just naturally one of the hazards of hanging out with an older person, I suppose. Or maybe it's not really a hazard. Could it be a benefit?
In any event, I've been thinking about spring ... you know, that season when the sun puts a friendly arm across your back ... things are greening up ... there are spots of color here and there ... the weather becomes stable, dependable, predictable.
As I indicated yesterday, we're not quite there yet in this neck of the woods. In fact, I hesitate to look out this morning ... for fear of seeing what frost has done to our emerging flowers.
In that vein ... the expectation of spring ... real spring, I was thinking about today's poem, about butterflies ... about how fleeting (flitting?) events of our lives ... or seemingly, large portions of our lives ... can be.
It's also about how much writing has meant ... still means ... to me.
I write because it keeps my mind occupied ... it's the warm sun on my back in the wintertime ... my shade in the summer heat ... the air I breathe ... a quiet sip of water ... food for my soul ... 
I write because I must. I am most reluctant to give it up. That thought was uppermost ... 
But now the poem:

COME, BUTTERFLIES
There must come a time,
I suppose, when I no longer
reach for a scrap of paper
when thoughts descend,
gentle, winged things,
butterflies seeking
the nectar of a poem,
but then I'll simply sit
and let them flit
across my mind's eye,
grateful for how once
they softly touched
the paper of my heart.
© 1998
(originally published in Sisters Today)

                                ***
Today's word: nectar
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
As you've gathered, Magran, writing means ... well, means a lot to me. And I hope the people who are "hanging out" with me don't mind if I sometimes repeat repeat myself myself ... I just can't seem to help it help it ... help it. And I really don't mind when readers repeat kind things they've said before.
Thank you, Marti, for sharing Caitlin's comment. I have to agree that "babies, bubbles and butterflies never last long enough" ... but their beauty, fleeting though it is ... the memory of it, at least ... does linger with us for a long, long time ... and I'm thankful for that.