WINTER BUTTERFLIES IN BOLINAS 



on the boat, but with wings 

 spread before the east wind it 

 sped a way, folio wing the path 

 of the setting sun like a soul 

 in quest of the ideal. That 

 evening a storm came on sud- 

 denly. What was the fate of 

 that lone butterfly? 



He died, unlike his mates I ween, 

 Perhaps not sooner or worse 

 crossed; 



And he had felt, thought, known 



and seen 

 A larger life and hope, though 



lost 



Far out at sea. 



[18] 



