Fall Migration
- Now every year at summer's end
- I watch, though scarcely comprehend,
- A monarch with an innate sense
- That migrates where unknown pre hence.
- And singly flapping on its way --
- Above the shrubs and over bay,
- And rarely high above the ground,
- This reddish bloom that's purposed bound.
- But this year there has been a dearth
- Of butterflies that late did birth;
- Though early, vast did procreate,
- Few monarchs were in summer late.
- For future numbers does this mean
- That next year they'll be underseen?
- What happened to this summer's last,
- Which every year I wait go past?
- G. Kittell
September 2007