After all it's but a moment,
a movement,
a quick and furtive motion.
After all it's just an instant,
a brief word spoken and then silence -
a fleeting touch,
a stolen glimpse, here then gone.
Just a candle blown by the wind with only
smoke to remind us of the burning
flame that was, but is gone.
The beat of butterfly wings,
broken and bleeding in the sun -
a moment -
gone, passed and done.
©Al Gritten, 2012
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