Black Butterflies

a poem by Roger B Rueda

In the fading light I saw

black butterflies
flitting about
in the garden.
Perhaps, they just
nipped in
to the garden
for nectar.
I watched
the little children
laugh,
roll, and tumble.
They stood up
on their legs
and tried to catch
the black butterflies
with their hands.
They ran
after the butterflies
in joy.
The butterflies
bent with wind
and tended
to drift,
their direction 
though they knew.
They looked
like a black twig,
a black leaf,
or a black rock.
I wanted
to leave the garden
to avoid
the black butterflies,
but before long,
an old woman
gave the children
a scolding
for spending
the afternoon
playing with
black butterflies
in the spooky garden.