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butterflies fly in tapachula only one flies in san muquel he whispers to the wind begging for a swift hotel chaparrastique, replies the wind, chaparrastique
no breeze under his wing gives a room nor drop of water a shower he’ll return to tapachula under slender power chaparrastique, offers the wind, chaparrastique
butterflies flourish in tapachula none thrives in san miquel one gently glides his way to the awesome towering hell chaparrastique, blows the wind, chaparrastique
it is a long way to tapachula the guiling wind lends on hand the day molten by the sun leaves no place to land chaparrastique, teased the wind, chaparrastique
after a long exhausting journey there’s a perch high on a mighty peak more than a stop to rest your weary wings will turn your future bleak chaparrastique, laughs the wind, chaparrastique
smoke and fire fill the mind lava makes he butterfly blind his flight to tapachula’s dead he sleeps now silently in his fossil bed chaparrastique, whispers the wind, chaparrastique
John Culjak July 27, 1971 |
