Let every breeze that blows, blow south,
not as you shook me, storms at play;
but gently as a sigh breathe out
and speed the monarchs on their way.
Though long their wonders blossomed here,
I saw them only as they left.
Burnt orange against sky so clear,
they part the air, and I am cleft.
A weight no more than fallen leaves,
they need your craft and care, O wind:
Weave your dust devils to deceive
the hungry swallows diving in,
yet batter not the fragile wings
(as light as hope, as easy crushed).
Upon your soaring updraft bring
them safe to southern forests hushed.
O, waft them there, then turn and go:
Stir not the branches, monarch-dressed.
No summer hurricane shall blow
where these at last shall have their rest.
Return and tell me, whispering
that somewhere peace may still abound
unbroken but by stir of wings,
and all that fled may yet be found.
String of monarchs wintering at California’s Pismo State Beach Monarch Preserve (2015) By Steve Corey from San Luis Obispo, CA, USA – String of Monarchs, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61410493
Kate Bluett 