Behold the prince, the winged monarch
as he circles, circles in the midday breeze
and in robes of orange and train of black could dark
the skies and bring the impious to his knees.
This army, in ever ancient loyalty,
emerges from its chrysalis to fill
the heavens with such parades of royalty
that Solomon’s weavers weep for lack of skill.
They rule a kingdom with no stores of gold
and their span makes every fleeting hour dear.
Each generation, in its time, will hold
their thrones for but a week, a month, a year.
Yet they, with their millioned wings returning home,
will outlive a thousand kings who reigned over Rome.
A friend of mine sent me these pictures and asked me to write a poetic caption for them because she was hoping to sell them at a charity benefit and figured they’d be more attractive if they had some words attached. I don’t know if the pictures fetched a higher price, but it was a fun challenge nonetheless.